I Get A Kick Out Of You
by Astrid Sonja
Summary: Damien, son of Satan, has just turned eighteen years old and has only asked for one thing; to return to Earth to answer an overdue prayer. Rated for sex, violence, and death. Damien/Pip, Craig/Tweek, Stan/Kyle, Kenny/?
1. Chapter 1

**Disclaimer**: I do not own the cartoon South Park, nor am I affiliated with the creators, Matt Stone and Trey Parker, in any way what so ever. This piece if purely a work of fiction.

_I Get A Kick Out Of You_

Dark screams of terror and panic ripped through the thick, dense fog. Battered bodies of all sizes, colors and shapes, laid forcibly to the uneven dirt ground by darkened, disfigured beings above them. The bodies choked back tears of pain and agony as they were horribly tortured by means completely inhuman. Bringing their malnourished bloodied fingers to their chained throats in utter agony in the situation, the hopeless people choked on the very grey, tar riddled air around them; some denying the fate and refusing to breathe while others accepted it, breathing in the asbestos and arsenic like clueless lab rats in an experiment gone horribly wrong.

One woman in particular, braver than all others, dared to stand against all odds. Gritting her chipped teeth enough to make her gums horribly bleed, she weakly pushed away strands of mistreated wavy brown hair and kept her face as stoic as possible as she took in a breath full of grey air. Her skin, stretching from the act of merely standing up, was on verge of sliding right off her archaic, tender body. Just as she thought her torment was over, she was immediately thrown to the ground, the rusted chain strapped firmly around her neck constricting tighter than ever. She hit the ground with a dull, echoless thud; one at which no one paid attention to. And as her dull, grey eyes finally closed, her body got weaker, her breathing nearly coming to an end, she remained alive, more fully awake than ever before. Because before even her, many had found from their own past experiences, that no matter how much strong-will you think you have to survive, there was no escaping your fate drawn out before you. And no matter how much you want to let go and fall apart, many remembered one simple, horrid thought; you couldn't die if you were already dead. And you certainly couldn't leave if you were stuck in the deepest pits of Satan's almighty Hell.

Not far from the very courageous act put forth by the nearly deceased woman, a large, overpowering castle stood, constructed completely of human remains (generally bone), steel, and red brick. It rested awkwardly atop the largest cliff in the Underworld, half hidden obscurely by mountain edges and ridges. On the rocky ground below, a large twenty food wrought iron fence encircled the castle's mountain, keeping out all unwanted visitors and invaders. Atop the sharp metal poles of the fence were precariously perched body parts of Hell's escapees, most likely a warning to any who even thought about attempting to flee.

The continuous screams of the poor victims of the underworld were heard throughout the castle, even past the large, heavily guarded front gates, down the endless stretches of empty corridors, and the multiple dungeons beneath the surface of the ground. They were heard as if they were in each corner of the home, sneaking carefully into every small crevice. Though one room in particular, situated near the top, was nearly shut off from the rest of the overpowering piece of architecture. As such, the screams of the mostly innocent were silenced. It was as if the walls were made of the strongest metal possible, allowing no sound in what so ever. Albeit the owner not hearing anything, they were unable to forget about the continuous sounds of torment, as it was going on for nearly every hour of every day.

"My story is much too sad to be told, but practically everything leaves me totally cold." Inside the dark, depressing room, the owner snickered quietly to themselves at their very actions, surprising themselves for just a moment. The owner carefully hummed along to the ancient song playing on the 1934 RCA 128 Tombstone/Cathedral radio before actually gathering up enough courage to sing along with the voice of the great Frank Sinatra himself. "The exception I know is the case, when I'm out on a quiet spree, fighting vainly the old ennui…" Their perfected and talented, soft baritone voice echoed in the decent sized bedroom, unable to penetrate outside, the walls keeping it promptly contained. And just as the singing was to continue, it was abruptly halted as a loud knock flooded the bedroom, echoing around just as their voice had seconds before. The owner could hear soft, annoying taps against the large wooden bedroom doors. With a great sigh, the owner rolled their eyes in annoyance. "Come in," they stated, their voice somehow penetrating the silence of the room and past the door to the other side. Afraid of the tone in the voice, the door opened cautiously to reveal the being on the other side. "…And I suddenly turn and see your fabulous face." The singing voice of the owner halted thereafter, going no further, awaiting with much disgust for the second voice to continue. With a wave of the hand, the radio immediately halts, the room bolting to deep silence.

"Damien, my Lord, Satan wishes to have a word with you. Damien?" With that, the son of Satan slowly turns around, his pale yet shadowed face full of obvious distaste. He looks curiously at the red skinned, husky demon on the other side of the room and frowns, his pink lips stretched in a fine line across his face.

"Is that all, Zazul?" Damien asks curiously as his glowing red eyes trail across the demon's wings, wondering for a moment how fast he could cross the room and strangle the being with their own body parts just for merely interrupting him.

Zazul grows uncomfortable under Damien's watchful demonic eyes. "Your Father, he said it was important." Zazul steps further into the room; past the large black canopied bed and stopping short of the equally dark writing desk. He looks down at the floorboards and his nearly human toes, not daring to look up at the powerful being in front of him.

Damien, looking less than convinced, uncrosses his arms from his chest and waves his hand into the air once again, the sweet sound of Frank Sinatra returning to the quiet room. "Well, it couldn't have been that important." He turns back around to his original position, before the demon had even interrupted him, and stares at himself in the full body length mirror. "After all, you weren't running." He brings a delicate hand up where he begins to tighten and later adjust the deep red colored tie around his muscular neck. For a moment, as he stares deeply at the tie, he lets his fingers graze across the inverted cross sewn carefully at the bottom of the red fabric and smirks. Once he is sure the tie looks satisfactory, he reaches his left arm into the air and lets it wait patiently. Just as he expected, he hears short, frantic taps against the floor boards as he sees Zazul grab the black and silver pinstriped suit coat from off the short dresser. Moments later, the suit coat is draped carefully upon his arm, mindful of any creases that may occur. Damien grabs the jacket and flings it over his arms, straightening up to bring it to the front where he is able to successfully button it up, catching his eye at the gleaming silver buttons. Damien brings his hands to the front as he wipes the jacket down, red eyes carefully looking at every centimeter of fabric for any possible flaw. When he sees none, he looks back up to the mirror, casually looking over at the reflection of the red skinned demon. "May I ask what it concerns?"

Zazul, obviously startled at the sudden spout of conversation from the anti-Christ, coughs awkwardly and nods. "It has to do with you going back to Earth. Your Father, he is forbidding it."

The radio abruptly stops, producing a sound close to the scratching of a brand new vinyl record. Damien, angrier than ever, closes his eyes in an attempt to rid himself of the fury building up in his body. Taking in a deep breath, he can hear Zazul take a number of steps away from the anti-Christ, most likely out of fear. "Forbidding it," Damien mumbles quietly, his deep voice barely above that of a whisper. Slowly turning around to face the demon, Damien smirks. "'Forbidding it' he says," he laughs quietly. "Can you believe it? You know, I only turn eighteen years old one time in my entire existence of living. One would think that would speak for something. And as such, I only ask for one simple thing. Go up on Earth for a few little hours and come back down here." He takes careful steps over to the dark wooden radio and sets his hand upon it, sliding his fingers against the rounded top. Just as he tears his hand from the vintage radio, his glowing red eyes shoot to Zazul, the radio instantly set aflame. "Funny, isn't it?"

Zazul jumps out of shock and takes another step back from the angry anti-Christ. "Damien, now listen, I'm sure your Father will be more likely to make a deal with you and-," the demon is suddenly stopped when a rough hand shoots out of nowhere and squeezes his neck, his eyes instantly rolling to the back of his head.

"Now you listen here, you slimy piece of shit. You shouldn't even think of telling me what to do." Damien growls, bringing his face to the demon's, pearly white fangs plunging from his soft, pink gums. "You go back to Satan and tell him that I am doing whatever I want and he can't stop me, not right now." With that, the frightening demon is flung to the other side of the room, his body smacking into the far wall.

As Zazul's dull eyes close, his hand grips the back of his head in pain. He is sure that if he were really alive and on Earth, he would surely be suffering much internal bleeding, if not experiencing death at this time. Shaking at the thought and refocusing his attention to the other side of the room once he feels that the light headedness has vacated his head, he see a giant black portal and is not at all surprised to see the anti-Christ standing straight in front of it, smirking widely. "You tell my Father not to wait up for me."

"But Damien please, your Father-," Zazul attempts to talk, cut off again by Damien's deep, booming voice.

"Silence, minion!" With even such a simple phrase, the room begins to frantically shake; the four poster canopy bed shoots out and smashes against the far wall, the floorboards rise from their spots on the ground, books from the bookshelves flinging themselves every which way. Damien smirks at the chaos induced bedroom from his safe spot on the far side of the room. "Have a nice evening, Zazul." Damien stands at his full height of just over six feet and brings his hands up to fix the inverted cross cufflinks present on the cuffs of his black suit. He fixes the sharp red tie and smirks, looking over at Zazul as the room is plunged into complete and utter darkness, the only thing visible to the naked eye are Damien's piercing red eyes and his fanged glowing white teeth.


	2. Chapter 2

**Disclaimer:** I do not own the cartoon South Park, nor am I affiliated with the creators, Matt Stone and Trey Parker, in any way what so ever. This piece if purely a work of fiction.

**Author's Notes: **I would like to thank tazarr. very much for giving me some opinion so far on the story and helping me decide whether or not it would be a chaptered story, which it obviously now is! :D Thanks again!

_I Get A Kick Out Of You_

_Chapter Two_

The constant rustlings of archaic pages belonging to the hefty book were the only thing keeping the quiet teenage boy awake. If it weren't for them, he would have been fast asleep long ago, amongst other books and avid learners in the library, dreaming of unimaginable things as he curled himself up in the large Victorian styled velvet, red armchair. He would have dreamed of many things; crossing the ocean on a large ship as he had when he was a child, falling in love, becoming a ruler of a new nation, playing hopscotch on the moon and even, just living a better life. Though, as he barely stayed awake, his mind now wandered off onto the concept of dreams rather than his studies, his somewhat dulled light blue eyes skimmed the page in front of him with an unusual lack of interest. With a great sigh, the teenage boy closes his eyes and snaps the large book shut, laying it gracefully onto the side table next to him. Just as he felt himself slip into the comfortable haven of dreaming, he is thrown abruptly back into the world of the awake by an ear piercing cackle of excitement. Lifting his head in curiosity, he gazes longingly over toward the direction of the snickers, hoots and chuckles. "It just isn't fair…" The teenage boy mutters to himself miserably, his forced American accent sounding strange even to his own set of ears.

Across the room from the poor, foreign boy, a group of four boys just the same age, sat grouped around a circular wooden table. The first one whom wore a blue with red trim beanie hat, leaned casually against the table on one elbow, and snickered toward the curly red head to his left, whom had his hands awkwardly buried in their hair as they face planted their head to the table in what looked to be utter shame. The boy with the hat comfortably had his other hand on the leg of the red head, patting it gently every few moments. The red head kept his head to the table, the comfort from the other boy obviously doing nothing to help. The other one, the foreign boy noted, was by all means larger than the rest of them (obviously from the buttons of his jacket stretched tediously over his bulky torso, shamelessly hiding a small plastic baggy full of white powered donuts; the powdered sugar flying out of his mouth as he barked with laughter at the ashamed red head. The last one sat with his back to the foreigner, reading a magazine that most would never let out of the bedroom, let alone to a public library. His legs were crossed, clad in tattered orange jogging pants and his torso covered by a thinning grey, zip up sweatshirt.

The foreign boy recognized all four of the boys as they had been classmates ever since he could remember; starting sometime around the third grade. Though by no means did he consider the other four boys friends or even acquaintances at that, they were most notably strangers if anything.

The foreign boy was suddenly snapped out of his blank trance as a yell was thrown into his direction. Shaking his head as if to rid himself of the fogginess, he found the four boys, even the one whom had his back to him, all staring over his way, all wearing matching faces of confusion, except for the heavier set one who bore a face of pure hatred. "Lookin' at something ya' like, Pip ol' boy?" The fat boy pointed a chubby finger in the direction of Pip and his velvet red armchair, his laughter even louder than it had been before. The hooded blond snickered at the poor boy, his erotic magazine currently left unnoticed on the table. The capped, black haired boy was completely unaware of the boy across the room, his undivided attention focused instead on the red head next to him. The red head, now with an over sized dark green trapper hat stuffed onto his head, leaned dramatically over the table and struck a blow to the side of the fat one's face. The heavier boy nearly shifted out of the entire chair and in the process, the bag full of powdered sugary treats fell and were now abandoned on the stained carpet floor. "Cartman, you jerk!" The red head shouted, drawing the attention to nearly everyone around them.

Completely startled at the acts before him, Pip quickly looked away, his attention now focused to the cracked window beside his velvet red armchair. Placing his pale fingers to the crack in the glass, he felt the freezing winter air press back against his skin; causing ball pin sized goose bumps to rise from beneath his over sized grey button up sweater. The frosty, bittersweet sensation immediately brought a dull blush to his lightly freckled cheeks. And as he removed his chilly fingers from the window, a small black clad figure stood on the street, their body torn between each side of the crack. Curiously, Pip brought his flushed face closer to the window as if to help receive a better look from the odd character below. "Who is-," the poor foreign boy's words were finished before he thought as his face was brutally slammed against the hard surface of the window. The immediate sound of laughter was heard behind him and as Pip brought his hand once more to the glass, he pushed himself off, noticing the crack had now lengthened in size due to the help of his skull. Pip forced his light blue eyes away from the crack to the street below. The black clad individual now stared up at him, his head cocked to the side in pure interest. Before Pip could even stare more than a second at the figure, his whole body was forced from the window and back into the chair. Coming face to face with the heavy set body of Cartman, Pip swallowed nervously. "Please, Cartman…" Pip whispered quietly, as if still obeying the rules of the library in even such a situation. "I didn't mean to stare, I swear!" He whispered once more, this time only slightly louder than before. Cartman suddenly pulled his arm back in a fist, the sleeves of his red jacket bunching at his wrists. This was Pip's unspoken cue to quickly grip the strap of the leather messenger bag beside his armchair and bolt from the heavier boy, leaving his stack of books and research papers abandoned in a heap on the dirty carpet floor. Along with the papers was a small, tan and grey herring bone wool newsboy style hat, its fluffy cotton inside present as the hat laid on its backside.

"You get back here, Pip!" No matter how angry Cartman sounded, Pip continued to run. As he heard the heavy stomps of Cartman's feet behind him, the boy cried out in terror, even resorting to pushing people out of his way for fear of the larger boy catching up. His long, slender jean clad legs furiously forced his feet to move faster than ever before, even though the sound of Cartman's footsteps grew softer and softer behind him. As Pip reached the end of the hallway, his shoelace snagged under his opposite foot, his tender body instantly falling toward the back door. The door blew open upon impact and smacked against the side of the library. Nearly the ground, Pip let out a long, strangled cry and shut his eyes almost immediately, not wanting to witness his face smacking into yet another object. In his mind he graphically pictured his contorted bloodied face, swollen black eye, and ripped skin after he collided with the concrete Earth below him.

Pip never hit the ground though. Instead, just as he was nearing the floor, he felt his arms hoisted up, his feet nearly coming off the ground in the process, his body banging into something he assumed was softer than concrete. Pip immediately opens his eyes and for a second, he wishes he hadn't. "Please, don't hit me. I'm sorry." He mutters quietly, his wide blue eyes rising from the chest of his male savior to meet dark red-brown eyes. "I fell and didn't see where I was going!" He exclaims, louder now, as he stared deeply into the paler, stoic face before him. The person before him remains as quiet as ever and Pip can't help but feel a tinge of horror bubble within his stomach. The man lets one of Pip's arms slide slowly away from his hand, drawing out the feeling of touch longer than necessary. In response, Pip reaches a hand up to the person's chest in an attempt to push them away; his fingers caress the soft, sensual like fabric of the blood red tie. As he stared, almost longingly, at the tie, Pip swallows heavily and looks franticly back when he hears the yells of Cartman coming up behind him at a faster pace than before. "Please, let me go! I have to go!" He yells, utter fright now evident in his thicker, accented British voice as he stares up at the man before him.

Somehow Pip knew he wouldn't get what he wanted (as he never usually did with anything)and now, it was obviously clear as the man gripped his one arm tighter, pulled him further away from the door into the alley way beside the library. Pip screamed, his voice higher than normal, and thrashed about, hoping desperately the person would let go. Before he could continue his screaming, he was pushed harshly against the brick wall, his vision blurred on impact. Without his eyes, Pip knew by the sounds, that Cartman was now outside. The heavier boy's breath was labored, his lips smacking in annoyance of the situation, his feet fumbling as he leaned against the brick wall. Closing his eyes, Pip felt his vision return slowly. As he regained it, he immediately saw the fist of the strange man before him drawn back to strike. Pip screamed once more, desperately looking in Cartman's direction, only to find that the boy had left, probably from fear at the sight of the other figure in the alleyway. Pip, without thinking, quickly brought his free hand up in front of his face, perhaps in self defending hopes to somehow cushion the brutal blow to his face. When the fist came hurdling toward his face, Pip whimpered all the while, his mind completely shutting off.

At last second, before the closed fist hit his outstretched hand, Pip felt something different. He felt smooth skin pressed against his own hand. Drawing his eyes to his hand instead of the tie which he was sure was the color his face would have been in a few ungodly seconds, Pip sighed greatly, his mind reeling with questions. The attacker's outstretched hand pressed firmly against Pip's own, their fingers an inch longer than the tips of the smaller boy. The skin, to which Pip's fingers were pressed to, were warm and tender, bringing an awkward feeling to his frozen ones. The sudden heat traveling through his body via his hand brought goose bumps to his body, not only to his arms as before, but to his legs as well. The same dull blush was brought once more to his lightly freckled face. "Thank you…" Pip finally found his voice as he stared up at the man before him, their eyes locked in perfect harmony. The man cocked his head to the side, causing strands of raven black hair to tumble over his forehead. Responding with nothing, the mysterious man nods and let's goes of both Pip's arms. Putting a hand over his suit covered stomach; the man before him bows lightly and immediately straightens up to his full height, walking away from Pip and the cold, musty brick alley. Just as he reaches the end of the alley, he turns back around and smirks. With a slight red tint coming to his eyes, layers of dark, grey fog suddenly appear and float under the man's feet, barreling over his tall legs before seemingly wrapping around his entire body, enveloping him in complete darkness.

"What in the world," whispered Pip quietly, his blush more vibrant than ever before as he delicately held onto the still warm hand that had touched against the mysterious man's own. Afraid to move his hand away for fear of the heat departing his body, he kept it there, periodically rubbing at the pale skin of his knuckles.

With an oddly happy grin gracing the features of Pip's normally saddened face, the teen slid down the edge of the brick wall behind him. Once plopped firmly onto the cold ground, Pip brings his hands to his lips and places a soft, kindhearted kiss. Breaking his hands apart from one another with much hesitation, he throws his leather messenger bag to his lap where he begins fiddling with the fabricate British flag safety pinned harshly against the material of the bag. "Well, I'll be damned," he murmurs quietly, the same bright grin plastered on his face as his fingers stroke the red strips of the British flag.


	3. Chapter 3

**Disclaimer:** I do not own the cartoon South Park, nor am I affiliated with the creators, Matt Stone and Trey Parker, in any way what so ever. This piece if purely a work of fiction.

**Author's Notes: **I would like to thank **tazarr.** again for plainly being just awesome! Thanks are also in store for **Ky**, **trulybliss08 **(for agreeing that yes, men in suits are extremely attractive-especially if it's Damien), and **InsomniaticFrenchToast**! Thanks to all of you guys for reviewing! It really does mean a lot! :D I also wanted to throw in there that it is quite evident the relationship between Damien and Pip was completely nonexistent. In this story line Pip and Damien are meeting for the first time, so this means they never met each other as South Park determined, in third grade. I hope you all enjoy this next chapter, it's quite the long one :)

_I Get A Kick Out Of You_

_Chapter Three  
_

The long, normally strenuous walk from the South Park Public Library to Pip's quant, two storied brown house was slightly more exciting than usual. During the entire way, a broad yet shy smile of devotion adored the soft features of his face. Despite the fact he passed two exceedingly horrible car crashes, both of which happening in the direct center of town causing an hour back up for anyone driving home from work, many signs with the words 'LOST CHILD' printed firmly in bolded letters, and a crazed, drunken man holding up a bank, Pip kept his smile and the same far off look in his eye. Today, he felt, was a special day and he wouldn't let anything awful ruin it, even if God forbid, Cartman showed up at his house to beat him up for earlier.

Once his house was in view, Pip's speed increased, his legs pumping against the sidewalk and up his straight, snow covered driveway where he noted, much with a blank stare and a hint of curiosity, his mother's red four door minivan sat. Cocking his head to the side in slight confusion, he continued on his way, slowing down once he reached the three ice covered porch steps leading to his front door. Careful not to fall (taking note his sneakers had little to no traction), Pip gripped the door handle, just to be safe as he walked up, throwing the door open. Just as he entered the simple living room, he kicked the black sneakers off his feet and set them carefully onto the rug designated for such things. His shoes now off; Pip wiggled his toes within his off white socks against the fluffy, crème colored carpet. Lifting the messenger bag from off his shoulder, he let it slide gracefully down his arm to the floor, nearby the spot where his shoes resided. With his body now free of his normal confines, he stretched his arms into the air, his fingertips nearly hitting the low hanging ceiling as his back arched. Pip yawns tiredly and lifts a hand to cover his mouth.

"Phillip, is that you dear?" Turning his head into the direction the soft voice seemed to come from, Pip began walking. Once he reached the spotless kitchen, the over powering smell of lasagna and fresh baked cookies collided with his face, flying right up his pointy freckled nose. In the corner of the room, directly in front of the stove, stood Pip's adoptive mother holding a tray of chocolate chip and oatmeal cookies. Keeping the stereotypical thoughts of housewives to himself, Pip sat himself down at the small table, his eyes lingering over the yellow décor of the room. He suddenly tears his eyes away from the tacky flowered wallpaper to witness his adoptive mother scrape the cookies from the sheet onto a plate. Once she has finishes, Pip watches as she walks over to him. She sets the plate down a few inches from the center of the circular table and makes a move to stand in front of Pip. "Oh, Phillip," she mutters, her fingers weaving into the strands of his light blonde hair. He looks up at her with a hint of confusion as her face scrunches up. "Your hair, it's all wet from the snow. I thought you went to school today with your hat on. Where is it?" She asks curiously, letting her fingers slide against the slightly wavy strands hanging over his forehead affected by the snow.

"Oh, goodness!" Pip cries out, his own fingers smashing against his scalp, for a moment disbelieving the woman in front of him. "I must have… I must have forgotten it when I was at the library. I had to leave rather quickly."

"Leave? Why ever so, dear?" The dark brown haired woman questions, walking back across the room to the sink where she absentmindedly stares out the window. "Did something happen?"

Pip's heart begins to race, his face immediately flushing at the simple question. Whenever he came home at any time during any day, bruised, bloodied, or even not, the woman worried horribly, sometimes to the point of hysteria. Never could he begin to explain to her that he was nearly beaten to a pulp by a boy twice, perhaps, three times his weight in a public library or enlighten how he came upon meeting a mysterious man in an expensive black suit that he had thought he'd been kidnapped by. "I-uh," Pip began as he looked down as his toes curling within his socks. "The fire alarm went off. Some boys from my class, they thought it'd be funny to pull it and see what happened." Pip's lie spilled from his mouth with years of perfect practice. Although he felt horrible for lying to the woman, he knew it was completely necessary.

Pip's adoptive mother sighs loudly, her dark brown curls on her head swaying to and fro with the movements of her head. "I just don't understand kids now. Something has changed over the years. Or maybe it's just this town." She turns around suddenly, looking at the teenage boy sitting at the table and smiles. "I'm so glad my little Phillip is as perfect as one of God's own winged angels." She turns back toward the frosted window and instead of staring; she submerges her perfectly manicured hands into the dirty dish water of the sink and begins cleaning the dishes as she had earlier.

Normally around this time, Pip would take this as a sign to leave; go upstairs and lay around, maybe figure out exactly how to break into the library after hours to retrieve his hat, and perhaps his research papers as well. But instead, he remains seated at the table; his eyes briefly glanced toward the clock on the microwave. "Why are you home so early? I thought you didn't get off work until five or so…" His eyes wonder back to his adoptive mother's back.

Without looking back, Pip's adoptive mother nods, preparing herself to respond to the boy's question. "Oh, I finished my stack of paperwork early today. The boss just decided to let me go home."

Pip nods his head out of habit. Just as she stands up from the table, a loud beep breaks the silence in the room. The woman forcibly takes her hands out of the water and wipes them on her green apron, the suds from the soap soaking into the fabric. She heads over to the oven and takes a peek inside, her eyes sparkling bright as she witnesses her masterpiece that is cooked lasagna. Pip smiles at the woman before he takes his leave, walking into the living room.

"Phillip! Aren't you hungry? Your father called earlier and said he wouldn't be home until after dark. How about we eat now?" Her voice, as tender and sweet as it is, still carries out of the kitchen to the spot by the front door where Pip stood.

"It's okay," he says as he gazes down toward the crème carpet beneath his toes. "I'm really not that hungry, to be perfectly honest." Pip can almost picture the saddened face of his adoptive mother, her fingers gripping the lasagna platter as tears tumble from her deep brown eyes. He shakes the thought from his mind as he leans to the ground and picks up his leather school bag. He grips the strap in his fingers and begins to walk up the stairs, the bag dragging mercilessly on the ground. Once he reaches the top of the stairs, he takes an immediate right where he walks until the end of his hallway before stopping at the last door.

Pip opens the door and slides in, an instant feeling of acceptance flowing over his body. His bedroom was that of simplicity, much like the rest of the small house. He had a desk which stored pencils, papers and a laptop, a bookshelf nearly bowing in the center with the weight of heavy piece of literature, a nightstand with a lamp and a bed. Pip lets go of the bag's strap, allowing it to lie on the olive green carpet floor beside his writing desk. He crosses the room slowly as he takes in a shaky deep breath, the shy smile from earlier finally returning to his face now that he is away from the peculiar eye of his adoptive mother. "I wish I could see him again," Pip mutters to himself, for a brief moment staring out the window, perhaps in hopes to find the mysterious man from earlier standing outside. "Though, he was quite an odd one…" A soft frown adores his features as he walks toward his bed and grabs the pair of loose fitting dark blue shorts laid flat out on the comforter. He strips his legs of the tight blue jeans and throws them onto the bed, slowly slipping the blue shorts over his grey boxer briefs. Folding the jeans and setting them neatly at the end of his bed, Pip sighs heavily and throws his tired body to the bed, his legs instantly guiding their way under the sheets. As he closes his eyes, he lifts his hands to his head where he massages the scalp tiredly. "And I do also wish I had my hat." He skims his fingers through the wisps of blonde hair against his forehead and grunts, an empty feeling circulating around his head.

Pip tosses the thought of breaking into the library away as he curls onto his side, facing the wall. Gripping the fabric of the pillow, he takes a deep breath before slipping into a deep sleep, ignoring the sounds of his adoptive mother walking around downstairs.

Thick, black smog clouded his vision, making it entirely impossible to see just one inch in front of his nose. He waved his arms in the air, trying to rid the area of the smoke. Though after a moment of flailing, he found he couldn't breathe. His throat was closing completely shut, all air from his lungs escaping as he clawed desperately at his neck, attempting to regain some oxygen from around him. The crescent moon shapes imprinted on his skin from his fingernails cut the tender flesh causing small bits of blood to pour. After wanting to pass out, not from oxygen just yet, but from the blood, his mouth finally opened, yet instead of the clean air he wished for, grey clouds tore down his throat, forcing his eyes to profusely water. Tears streamed down his face, chest and legs before landing on the ground; leaving a soaking wet spot on the now dark carpet. Pip fell to the ground, every inch of his body experiencing more pain than he could ever imagine. Wanting to pull himself into a ball, he found it completely useless as some unknown force from inside him pushed him onto his back. The back of his head felt moist from the tear stained carpet under him. Much to his dislike, black smog continued to gush into his mouth, streaming its way down his throat and disappearing within the confines of Pip's now useless body. Suddenly, just as he felt his life force slip away, his arms jut out in front of him, and his fingertips leaking black smoke and sludge. Lifting his head just enough to look, he watched as his own legs (which dripped with the same odd liquid) were harshly divided from themselves, a deep space left between them. Pip's pale hands worked their way down his body, pinching delicately at the perfect flesh adoring his chest every few inches. His hands finally reached his belly button, one centimeter above the waistband belonging to the dark blue shorts covering his lower half. His fingers toyed with the waistband before slipping under completely, descending lower and lower, much to Pip's sheer dislike. Opening his mouth in an attempt to talk, he licked his calloused lips, yet all he could manage was a few pitiful squeaks. His body began to grow rigid. His arms and legs failed to work. His chest failed to rise and fall with the touch of tender life. His heart stopped. Pip's head dropped to the floor. The thick, black smog exited his body almost as quickly as it had entered.

Pip shot up in bed, his heart beating just as fast as it had earlier in the day. His face was drenched in clean, salty sweat. His normally bright blonde hair was greasy and almost dull in appearance. Blinking his eyes in haste, he throws the bedding away from him and onto the floor, staring down at his normal, spotless legs covered with the same dark blue shorts and arms wrapped comfortably in his large button up grey sweater, in confusion. "It was a dream," Pip mutters, his frantic voice heard only in the confines of his dark bedroom. Sitting completely up in his bed, he reaches over to the nightstand and grabs the digital clock, observing the time drawn out onto it. He had fallen asleep around 4:30 P.M. The clock, cradled in his sweaty hands, read 2:43 A.M. "My God, it was a dream." He sighed in relief, his eyes closing briefly in delight.

A quiet clapping noise coming from the corner of his room yanked Pip completely out of his thoughts. Pip kept his head down, not daring to look up, for fear of what stood nearby. "And what a dream it was, Phillip. I dare say, not even I could have thought of something so," the person paused, their voice growing louder as nearly silent footsteps sauntered toward his small, twin sized bed. "So, breathtaking." The figure laughed a low chuckle at the irony of his choice of adjectives.

Pip finally looks up, his head snapping forward as he looks around the room; his eyes meeting nothing but complete and utter darkness. Turning his head to the window, as if for a second he thought the person left, he turns his head back to the front where he comes face to face with another man. If Pip ever thought someone could jump out of their skin from mere fright, now would be the time. The back of his head knocked into the hard wood of his headboard, an instant pain flooding his body. "Hello, Phillip." The figure says, as it looms over his bed, his face in the teenage boy's own.

"Get away from me!" Pip cries, his arms flailing in front of him to protect from the other man. Though, for just a moment, he pauses as his light blue eyes immediately catch the figure's bright red, demonic eyes. His arms fall to his sides as his eyes astray from the person's face and over their body, meeting the same black pin striped suit and red tie he had before. "Oh, Jesus. You're-You're the man from today. From the alley!" He cries out, louder than his previous statement. "How did you get here? Please, don't hurt me! Just leave! I won't tell anyone you were here! I promise, I-," Pip's eyes grow larger as a hand is thrust against his mouth, long fingernails digging into the skin on his cheek.

The man cocks his head to the side, an agitated look present on his face as he stares down at the helpless teenager in the bed. "You talk far too much." His fingers tapped Pip's cheeks before he drew his hand away, pushing it down to the teenager's own. "Though, I would have expected as much, coming from you. You may call me Damien, Phillip."

Pip stares down at the hand as his eyes grew wider in fear. "I don't understand…" He murmurs quietly, his voice just barely above a whisper. "Why are you here?"

Slightly put off by Pip not shaking his hand, Damien scoffs and steps away from the bed. Walking to the center of the room, he snaps with his thumb and pointer finger on his left hand and moves to sit down. At last second, the stool belonging to Pip's desk slides across the carpet and underneath Damien, just as he was at the necessary height. Damien moves his shoulders awkwardly, adjusting the fabric of his suit coat just right. He crosses one leg over the other as he does with his arms and leans back, his eyes never once leaving Pip's bright, confused ones. "Why am I here?" Damien asks back, drops of mockery bleeding from his pale lips. "I hardly think you should be asking me that. After all, you're the one who yells for me every night."

A full blush sneaks upon Pip's face as he pulls his skinny legs to his chest. "I don't… I'm afraid I don't understand you, Damien." Pip mutters, his voice stuttering over the pronunciation of the other figure's name. He brings a hand up to his forehead and pushes away strands of sweaty blonde hair.

Damien watches Pip like a hawk to its prey. He never once blinks, he never once winces, and he never once looks away. Sitting straighter up in the chair, he uncrosses his arms and waves his left hand gently in the air. Floating just above Damien's lap was a tea tray, completely outfitted with a container for sugar, milk and honey, a teapot and a teacup. Keeping his eyes fixed onto Pip's, he lets the objects do as he pleases. "You see Pip," Damien begins, his deep voice laced with slight fascination to the boy's statement. "Everyone prays. Catholics, Christians, Buddhists, even Atheists say a word or two when they deem it fit." The tea trey suddenly disappears, only to reappearing once more, this time on top of Pip's desk on the other side of the room. Damien watches as Pip jumps in his bed, startled at the movements of the usual inanimate objects. A toothy grin appears over Damien's face, his sparkling white teeth gleam in the little slits of moonlight slipping into the cracks of the window. He lifts his hand and grabs the tea cup, taking a sip before continuing, a cough falling from his throat before. "And, for you, not me of course," Damien pauses and smiles, wider this time. "The sad thing is that God, Buddha, Allah, all those guys, they don't listen to those prayers. Not really anyway. They may listen in occasionally, when they feel like it. But overall, do you think they have time to waste over such simplistic things? Do you think they really want to hear about all your pathetic problems?" The silence coming from Pip in the corner tells him to continue (though he would have, whether the boy wanted him to or not). "The human race is inherently selfish, you know."

Damien stops, catching the ever growing confusion etched on Pip's face. "I'll give you an example," Damien begins, letting go of his tea cup, setting it down onto the ground. Pressing his outstretched hands together, he dips his head down, black hair instantly covering half his face in complete darkness. "God, please, let me be rich. God, make me skinny. God, make him love me instead of that bitch. God, my mother grounded me, lend me the strength to kill her." Damien's head snaps back up and instantly catches the light; his eyes light two priceless rubies in the midst of a disastrous coal mine.

"But…" Pip, having been intently listening the entire time, finally speaks up, his voice just slightly coarse from lack of good sleep. "If nobody listens to us," Pip swallows heavily, letting go of his legs to sit up straight in his bed. "Who does?"

The question immediately brought a dark smirk to Damien's face. He bends over and lifts his teacup to his mouth, taking a quick sip before setting it back to the ground. "You're not as dumb as you look, dear Phillip. I suppose I had a sour first impression when it came to you. It must have been the blonde hair." Damien winks at Pip before adding quickly, "I'm glad you asked that for you see, I do have the answer." He pauses briefly as if finding the correct words in his brain. "You believe in God. I find that apparent by the crucifix in the top drawer of your bedside table."

Pip sits up even straighter and leans over, quickly throwing the drawer open to indeed, find a painted wooden crucifix. "How did you know?" He asks, terror flashing over his face.

Damien, half chooses to ignore it, only tapping his temple with his pointer finger as he gives Pip a quick nod. "Then you must also believe that with every good out there, there is a counterpart, an evil. And if you don't, then please indulge how exactly that Cartman fellow is one of God's archangels." With a smirk, Damien uncrosses his legs and crosses his arms back over his chest, his fingers briefly picking at the blood red tie around his neck.

"You mean…"

Damien smirk grows wider as he watches the sweat tremble down Pip's forehead. "That's right, Phillip. God, Buddha, Allah, they don't listen. Satan, now he's the real listener."

"Satan's not real!" Pip cries out, anger stretched over the adorable features of his face. "The Devil doesn't exist!"

"You believe in God. What's wrong with Satan?"

At the question, Pip remains silent, his eyes completely leaving Damien, instead focusing now on the crack in his side wall. As the awkward seconds pass, Pip finally looks over, his eyes shamefully looking up Damien's body, starting with his toned legs and ending with his perfectly messy, black hair. At last, he finally catches the sparkling red eyes. "I just… Don't want to believe that something that horrible could ever exist. I'd be damned if I did." Pip's heart beats within his chest cavity as he watches Damien stand up from the chair, bending over only to pick up the teacup before standing to his full height. With every step closer to him, Pip, in his mind, takes one small one back. "God would never forgive me. I would burn in Hell for all eternity." Pip shuts his eyes childishly in hopes it would make Damien disappear. Though, it worked just the opposite as he heard no more footsteps and felt the bed shift to one side. Opening one eye, he sees a broad smile across Damien's face.

"I could only hope," he says, pure seduction drenched in his voice as his hand moves to the bed, his pointy fingertips catching the tips of Pip's stubby toes. "So, you do believe in Satan."

Pip looks down at his toes, blushing furiously as he feels Damien gently stroke the light skin. "You said God doesn't listen to everyone." He looks up from his toes to meet Damien's gaze. "You told me I should be asking why you're here. Who listens to me? Who are you?" Pip felt his voice breaking within the confines of his throat.

The bed shifts considerably more as Damien moves across Pip's bed, stopping only when he was seated perfectly in between Pip's outstretched legs. He lets his warm hand stroke seductively up Pip's naked legs, stopping only when they reached the bottom of dark blue cotton material. Each one of Damien's hands squeezes the teenage boy's pastel colored thighs. "You're very loud about it you know." Damien's eyes travel back down Pip's legs before returning to his face. "I never would have listened if it weren't for your constant pitiful voice waking me up at odd hours of the day. Funny thing really, that you believe in God when you never actually pray to him." Damien states, amusement lingering in his voice. Just as he did before, though only slightly different, Damien picks up Pip's hands and places them in the customary praying position. Placing his hands overtop Pip's own, he smirks. "Please, someone help me. Someone make my life better." Damien lets Pip's hands fall to his sides. Watching with delight as the other boy's fingers grasp the white sheets in fear, Damien slides his hands onto Pip's waist, nails digging into the sensitive, perfect skin. "Never thought you'd be praying to Lucifer, did you? Witty thing about praying: if you don't say 'God', he won't even think about listening. But Satan, he's all ears."

"How do you know all this?" Pip places his hands over Damien's, his fingers lovingly stroking over the pallid skin of the other boy. Pip lightly turns his head away as he feels Damien's face grow unbearably close to his own. Pip can feel every breath on his neck and ear and every strand of Damien's hand tap against his cheek. Slowly, he turns his face closer to Damien, his nose instantly filled with the scent of brimstone, sulfur and heavy alcohol. Pip's eyes flutter closed in pure ecstasy, his breath beginning to feel labored. He lifts his hands higher, completely forgetting about the other boy's hands as he slides them up his chest, his fingers stroking the sensual red fabric before landing them on either side of his head, his fingers burying within depths of silky black hair. While one hand continues to remain on his head, the other strokes lower, grazing across the skin of Damien's ear, his pinky finger tapping gently into the holes of his black gauged ears.

"You don't know yet?" Damien's deep, sultry voice echoes within Pip's head, refusing to leave out the other way. Damien keeps his hold on the other boy's hips and leans his face closer to Pip's, their cheeks now fully touching, sending a spark of heat shooting from Damien's skin to Pip. "I am most unclean, the denier of Father and his Son, I am but half human-born from the bowels of a jackal, the angel of a bottomless pit of fire," Damien pauses and turns his head, his lips pressed firmly against Pip's cheek, a mere few centimeters from the other boy's flush lips. "I am the anti-Christ, Phillip, the son of the almighty Satan himself." Damien's pointed red tongue emerges from within his mouth and slides across Pip's vulnerable skin, starting at his chin and ending just below his temple. Damien moves his head aside, leaning back almost instantly to place a firm kiss to the side of Pip's head. With one hand placed behind his back, he retrieves his teacup from earlier and smiles widely, giving Pip one last look of evil before pulling away. "Goodbye, Pip." The teacup is crushed against the side of Pip's head and the last thing the boy sees before falling into complete unconsciousness are two shimmering ruby eyes and a large, inhumane smirk showing off perfectly pointed, sharp white teeth.

A loud, prolonged groan erupts from beneath clean white sheets and a large blue flannel comforter. The groan continues for a few brief seconds before it abruptly stops. The blankets jerk around and at last, Pip emerges from beneath, his hair sticking up in every direction. Yawning loudly while his thin arms stretch into the air above him, Pip smiles brightly. He looks curiously around his bedroom, as if something were astray amongst the perfectly placed things. His assumptions are correct as he slides out from beneath the sheets and crawls quickly over to the end of the bed. Placed perfectly on the edge was his grey and tan newsboy hat situated over top a stack of neatly written research notes. A broader smile appears over top the other from the mere sight of the objects. Grabbing the hat, Pip immediately brings it to his chest where he squeezes it tightly. Turning around in utter joy, his face falls flat, his eyes wide in disbelief as he stares down at the blinking alarm clock. "No," Pip declares quietly, his head shaking. "No. It can't be." Quickly throwing himself off the bed as he thrusts the hat over top his messy blonde hair, Pip screams. "I can't believe it! I'm late!" Grabbing his pants from the day before and his school bag from off the floor, Pip makes a mad dash out of the bedroom, looking back briefly in loving contentment.

The door shuts quickly before Pip's frantic footsteps are heard down the stairs. A deep, dark chuckle echoes in the dark, confined bedroom just as the door was shut. Red narrowed eyes swiftly look around the room before gazing with much interest out the window. A broad smile appears as red eyes witness the sprinting of the blonde human down the street. "Such a sour first impression."


	4. Chapter 4

**Disclaimer:** I do not own the cartoon South Park, nor am I affiliated with the creators, Matt Stone and Trey Parker, in any way what so ever. This piece if purely a work of fiction.

**Author's Notes: **Because of this particular chapter, the rating has to go up for it includes much more mature themes than the last three have. This chapter includes sex and violence, just so you know. Thanks again for the wonderful **tazrr.** and **trulybliss08** for commenting on the last chapter! You guys are totally awesome and I love hearing from you! Your reviews are always very lovely as well! And that's it! Enjoy reading about my favorite pairing ever, Creek! P.S. does anyone else notice the chapters keep periodically getting longer and longer? I'm honestly not sure how that keeps happening. I must just talk too much. XD

_I Get A Kick Out Of You_

Chapter Four

If there was one thing that Pip knew about being tardy for school, it was that there was always the one teacher, who thought they class was above all the rest of them, whom made a huge deal about it in front of everyone. Today, for Pip, that person was none other than Coach Williams, the gym teacher. Instead of getting yelled at by his English and Mathematics teachers as he assumed he would (after all, he missed both their entire class respectively), Pip found himself quivering under the fuming glare of the pot bellied, middle aged man wearing a sweaty white undershirt and tight green shorts with the school's own logo screen printed to the side. Pip wasn't quite sure why the man had been so angry, after all, he showed up dressed in his complete uniform fifteen minutes into the class period, attendance note in gripped tightly in his hand. The man had stormed away from watching the entire eleventh grade class perform sit-ups just to yell in Pip's face about the importance of physical education. To say Pip was startled was the least bit, to say he was entirely grossed out at having the ugly man's spin fly onto his face hit the nail directly on the head. So it was then that he instead focused on the now silent class, a deep blush of embarrassment forming on his face as he watched many of their faces give him taunting features.

"This is my punishment," Pip muttered quietly, chin rested firmly on his hands, supported by his crooked knees. After the class period earlier, Coach Williams dragged Pip away from the group once more to tell him to wait in the gym after school was let out. Of course Pip hadn't known at the time (though he could only assume at the title in his name) that the overly obese man had coached the South Park High swim team. So instead of waiting in the gym alone as he predicted, Pip had decided to walk across the entire length of the school to reach the indoor aquatic arena to wait for the man. Inside, he situated himself near the direct middle of the cold, rickety bleachers where now, he continued to sit, even after an hour later.

"This is my punishment," Pip mutters again as his light blue eyes glance quickly from one pool drenched boy to the next, each of their toned perfect bodies sporting green high school issued Speedos. Hiding his face in his hands, fear for someone noticing him watching, Pip groaned loudly. As a whistle was sounded in the close distance of the pool, a series of loud splashes notified the start of racing practice for a group of boys. During the whistle, the side gym door creaked open. Without looking up, Pip could hear the double doors close once more and the sound of a heavy duffle bag being dragged against the tile floor of the pool area before it stopped at the bleachers, proceeding then to knock into every step as the person walked up. "It is rather quite embarrassing sitting here," uncovering his face, he stares off into the side wall, a desperate look present on his face.

A small laugh is heard to his right which forces Pip to look over in pure curiosity. "I don't know," the person mutters, taking a step into the line of bleachers just below Pip's own. "…I don't think it is." A small, shaky smile appeared over the person's features as they looked over at the foreign boy. "Do you, oh geez, mind if I sit here?" The person managed to stutter out, their hands gripping dangerously at the strap of the gym bag.

Pip smiles back almost instantly and nods his head. "Do go on Tweek," he assures the person, "I don't need all this area to myself." Pip watches as the other boy nods their head hurriedly; messy strands of chaotic nearly white blonde hair flying to and fro with the spastic movements.

"Jesus Christ, thanks a lot!" Tweek cries out almost instantly, the same awkward smile gracing the features on his face. He adamantly lets go of the strap to his bag and takes a seat a good five feet away from Pip. "I, urgh, didn't know you were on the swim team too!" Tweek does a half turn in his seat to look back at Pip, his vivid green eyes present with confusion.

Pip shakes his head toward the other blonde. "No, I'm not. I'm merely waiting for someone, Coach Williams actually. He told me earlier I had to have a talker with him after school." Pip pauses before continuing, "I was tardy and such." Pip tears his eyes away from Tweek to the large bag placed at his feet.

Tweek nods once then twice more, blonde hair shooting out in every direction. "Yeah, yeah, I remember!" He scratches the side of his head and twitches his eye, as if he were delving into his memories of the day to remember their third period gym class. "I'm waiting too! Oh God, but not for Coach. That'd be," Tweek abruptly pauses, his entire body forcing into that of a mini seizure, "way too much pressure, too much pressure."

Pip blinks, his eyes widening at the sight of the twitching teenager. "Um, who are you waiting for?" He asks, hoping to make Tweek feel more comfortable with the flow of conversation between the two.

"Argh, Craig! Craig Tucker!" He blurts out, hands flying back to the floor of the bleachers where he grips the strap to his bag. "Craig Tucker told me he'd give me a ride home today." Tweek's perfectly straight blonde eyebrows furrow against the tops of his eyelids. His trembling hands make their way to his hair where he absentmindedly tugs, the small pains from his head giving him a grief sense of satisfaction. He suddenly pauses altogether and zips open the duffle bag, tossing out a pair of running sneakers and shorts before finding his object of desire, a small green thermos. Throwing it open, he begins to chug the dark, warm liquid. His face blanks, his features completely at ease.

At the sudden news of Craig, Pip sits up, a surprised look present. "Craig's on the swim team?" He asks in an unbelievable tone, his voice higher than he wished for it to be. The other blonde nods excitedly and looks back toward the swimmers. For a few moments, Pip can see Tweek's eyes trail across each and every swimmer just as he had done before, before abruptly stopping and throwing his pointer finger in the air. Pip follows Tweek's pointy finger and finds Tweek's accusations to be correct. Bobbing in the second row of the pool, arms' hanging back onto the wall, goggles thrown haphazardly across his dark eyes, was Craig Tucker in all his swimming glory. As if by perfect chance that he somehow knew they were talking about him, Pip watches the muscles in Craig's arms strain as he pulls himself completely out of the pool and onto the white tiled floor, his ashy like body contrasted horribly against the tight black Speedo over his hips and messy, chlorine soaked raven hair. Pip watches as Craig finally stands and grabs a towel from one of the other members on the team. He throws it over his head and immediately begins to dry off his hair.

Looking away from Craig into the now open bag beside Tweek, Pip nods his head, putting the facts all together. His eyes shift from the ripped up, old running shoes, past the spare change of clothing, the odd sweaty odor flowing freely from Tweek's body, and finally the bunchy grey cotton jogging pants with the boy's last name printed on the side. "You're on the track team?" Pip asks, probing the second blonde for useless knowledge of him and his classmates.

"Yeah, yeah!" Tweek's head continues to nod, this time along with the bizarre sequences of twitches. "I, urgh, can jump pretty well. So I do hurdles and long jump. Sometimes I do the 100 meter dash but, I dunno, I'm not really so, oh Jesus, good at that." The blonde pauses to set the thermos down, his hands grasping back onto the blonde split ends. "Kyle likes it a whole lot better. So I let him do it. He's a whole lot better than me too…"

Pip frowns and shakes his head. "Don't say that Tweek, I bet you're wonderful!"

Tweek smiles returns. "Gah, Jesus Christ, thanks Pip!" The chaotic teenager crosses his arms over his chest and tucks the palms of his hands underneath his armpits to help restrain himself from tugging at his already damaged hair. "You're really nice, you know…" Tweek mumbles quietly as he closes his eyes and takes in a deep breath of pool air.

Unbeknownst to the two awkward blonde boys, the tired members of the swim team began gathering up towels, goggles, and flip flops. Many of them immediately ran off to the boys shower room to freshen up while a few strayed off in the direction Pip came, into the hallway. One could only assume they'd walk toward the vending machines to get a sugar sweet or two, as they were located between the pool and main gym. As Pip and Tweek continued to talk quietly amongst themselves, the sound of harsh, messy stomps against the bleachers echoed to the tile floor by the pool. It wasn't until Pip felt his straight blonde hair pull away from the surface of his scalp that he knew what was going on. Lifting his frightened eyes, he was immediately startled, meeting the intimidating face of Craig.

"What'cha think you're doing, Pirrip?" Craig's voice slipped out of his mouth in trivial monotone slurs while his dark brown eyes dug into Pip's like deep, black coals.

Pip made the brutal mistake of looking away from Craig's eyes, instead, letting his eyes stare down his toned chest covered in chlorine water droplets. His eyes falling even lower to the tight black spandex swimsuit and even further to Craig's slender, hairy legs. He stops just before he reaches the boy's feet as he feels fingers dig ruthlessly into his chin, hoisting his head back up to its previously position. "Fuckin' look at me when I'm talkin' to you, moron," Craig curses, throwing aside Pip's chin as if it were burning him. "What the hell are you doing here?" Craig lowers his head until he is a good three inches in front of Pip's frightened face.

Pip can see every single clear water droplet present in Craig's messy hair slide down his evenly freckled face and tumble onto his dirty, jean covered legs. Pip swallows heavily as Craig bares his somewhat crooked teeth. "I-I-I'm waiting for the coach. He told me I-," Pip's eyes immediately close as he watches Craig purse his lips and spit in his face, directly in between both his eyes. It takes a moment for the spit to skate directly down his nose and tumble over his lips before stopping near his chin. "Please, Craig… I didn't mean to make you angry."

"I never wan-," Craig is immediately silenced as Tweek stands up from the bleachers, his arms crossed heavily over his chest, a menacing look gracing his awkward features. "Craig!" He yells, his voice carrying throughout the entire gymnasium, his green eyes glaring straight into that of the nearly naked teenager. "Let him go! He didn't do anything to you!" Much to his dismay, a violent spasm rips through his body, forcing his arms apart. In the act, one hand smacks the coffee thermos, sending it violently flying down the bleachers. Throwing his head down, until his chin fell to his chest, he begins to steady his shaky breath. He tosses his hands to his air and grabs whitening strands of blonde. A second tremor rips through his body as he begins to pull hair by hair out of his head and letting it fall to the ground. "Jesus Christ, just s-s-top it!" Jumping over a bleacher, Tweek stands behind Craig, wrapping his gangly arms around the other boy's naked torso. He begins to furiously tug Craig's body back.

Craig immediately stops all movements. Slowly his fingers detangle from the flowing golden locks of Pip's hair. He pulls his face away in shame and looks to the ground. "Tweek, I-," Craig begins as he runs his now free hand though his sopping hair. A small blush appears over his face as he lifts his eyes to look at the disheveled image of Pip.

"Argh, don't." Tweek mutters quietly, burying his face against Craig's wet back, his fingers sliding up the front of his chest. "Let's just go," he continues while reluctantly unwrapping his arms and walking back over to his bulky track bag. Tweek begins to stuff his clothes and shoes back inside and once he is finished, he fails to look back at Craig and Pip, instead mumbling incoherently as he walks down the cold, metal bleachers. When he reaches the bottom, he leans down and grabs the now empty thermos. As he stuffs it into the bag, he looks up at Pip and frowns, his eyebrows furrowing in sadness. "Goodbye, Pip," with that, Tweek sends a glare up to Craig and makes his way to the locker room on the far side of the room.

Craig, startled by Tweek, remains completely quiet, at least for a minute as he refigures the thoughts flowing freeing in his mind. As he brings a hand to his chest, the same spot Tweek touched just moments before, an angry sigh rips through his throat. Snapping his head up, he meets Pip and scowls. "You mention this to anyone, you foreign piece of shit, and you'll be wishing you stayed in France. Got it?" Craig grabs the front of Pip's shirt and unsympathetically pushes, watching for a split second as Pip cries out in pain before descending the bleachers, following in Tweek's direction.

As Pip lies on his back staring up at the ceiling, pain gushing through his entire body, he sighs. His eyes, currently brimming with tears, sparkled against the bright lights illuminating the aquatic gymnasium. "I'm not French," he mumbles quietly as a tear finally falls from his eyes, sliding down his pink cheeks and landing on the metal. "I'm British." Closing his eyes tiredly, he reaches to the back of his head and rubs. The simple act causes an even greater surge of pain to emerge, streaming through his body. Groaning loudly, he attempts to sit up but is stopped by a pair of hands wrapping themselves around his arms. "Craig, please…" He mumbles quietly. As he opens his eyes, his throat goes dry. His mouth now gaped open in shock, his face pales of all color. "D-Damien…" He murmurs as his body begins to go slack against Damien's hands.

Damien smirks and situates himself on top of Pip's hips, his legs straddled to either side of the fallen boy. Gripping Pip's arms even tighter than before, he uncovers his sharp teeth from beneath his light pink gums and leans down, sticking his unholy pale face an inch away from the other boy. "You are quite the punching back, Phillip." Bringing his legs closer together, he squeezes Pip's midriff. "Tell me, what was that boy's name?" Damien lets go of Pip's arm and brings a hand to his chin, wiping away the nearly dried spit from Craig.

Pip swallows, completely forgetting his mouth is entirely void of spin. "Craig," he pauses, a soft gasp escaping his lips as he stares down at Damien's wandering hands. "Craig Tucker." An almost silent groan breaks from his lips as Damien's warm hands slide up the front of Pip's large blue sweatshirt, his fingers gently nipping at the tender skin around his nipples. Looking Damien straight in the eyes, he is surprised to find his face completely empty of all emotion, unlike himself.

"And the other boy?" Damien questions curiously, sliding his hands further until they reach around his back. He brings his face closer to Pip and gently places his lips fully over top the others. "The blonde?" His tongue darts out and skims across Pip's thick bottom lip. When Pip denies the request from Damien to allow his tongue near his mouth, he frowns and presses his canines sharply down upon the lip, instantly drawing blood.

"Tweek!" Pip blurts out as he trails his hand up to press against the open wounds Damien created. "Tweek Tweak is his name."

"And are they," Damien pauses and pushes Pip's hand away with his chin, "together? Do you know?"

Pip shakes his head, blonde hair tumbling about. "I don't know…"

Damien nods and sits up to stare down at the foreign boy, a look of pure satisfaction present on his face. Lifting his hands from out beneath Pip's shirt, he raises them up to grasp onto his cheeks. Skimming his thumb over Pip's bleeding lip, he smiles. "Don't you worry about a thing, Phillip. Just go home and go to bed and I promise you, just as you asked me," Damien leans down and hungrily licks the blood from Pip's face, "I will make you a better life."

Pip, looking less than satisfied, frowns. Bringing his hands up, he strokes Damien's forehead, swiping away the black strands to get a better look into his eyes. "What are you going to do to them?"

Stuffing his face in the crook of Pip's neck, Damien beams with false happiness. "I'm just going to make sure they never touch you again." Deeply sighing against Pip's neck, he continues, deep red eyes burning into the metal of the bleachers. "They'll never hurt you again."

Pip grabs onto Damien's soft red tie and tugs, smiling drunkenly as they chests fully touch. Stuffing his face against his neck, he inhales Damien's scent as his nose brushes softly against black strands of hair.

"I'll protect you," Damien mutters, a wide smirk appearing as he feels Pip's legs wrap around his hips. "I'll always be there for you."

"Tweek!" Craig bellows, his voice carrying throughout the entire locker room, startling many occupants lingering about, talking and dressing. An awkward silence fills the locker room, no one daring to even mutter a noise as the teenage boy stomps about. Many occupants flee as quickly as possible, yet some remain standing where they are, refusing to budge just for one irritated person. Craig harshly pushes away younger members of the swim team and makes his way to the back of the room, by the showers. "Tweek!" He yells once more, stopping only to stare back at the remaining individuals standing about. "Get the fuck out of here!" He cries out in rage, punching the locker directly to his left, his right fist immediately flushed in irritation. The rest of the swim team takes the punch as their invitation to leave and instantaneously begin to file out of the locker room. Just as the last one leaves, Craig throws both hands up into the air, throwing his long middle fingers to their back. "Fuck you all!" Kicking the same innocent locker with his bare foot, Craig internally winces before walking to the back once more, hiding his slight limp in his now aching foot. Once he reaches the last row of lockers, he isn't at all surprised to find Tweek standing awkwardly, his hands tugging at the white shirt stuck around his neck.

Tweek rolls his eyes and flails back and forth in an attempt to remove the shirt. "Go away Craig!" He yells; his voice only slightly muffled from the fabric restraint around his head. Once the shirt flies off his head, he falls back against the cold lockers behind him. A small groan emits from his mouth. Immediately after that, a spasm rips through his body, his back arching, his skull knocking back against the lockers. "Jesus Christ!" Throwing his hands to the back of his head, he turns away from Craig in embarrassment, fiddling with the string keeping his pants up as he stares at the chipped blue painted lockers in front of him.

Craig stalks over to Tweek and pushes him flush against the lockers. Throwing himself against Tweek's back, he snakes his arms around the boy, instantly reveling in the feeling of their naked torsos touching. Craig's fingers eventually plant themselves directly above Tweek's. Knotting them together, he sighs loudly. "Tweek," he murmurs, just loud enough for the two of them to hear before placing a delicate kiss on the blonde's overtly boney shoulder.

Tweek rests his forehead against the locker in front of him. "Kiss me again." He demands, his fingers gripping tightly against Craig's. "You have to kiss me again," he repeats once more, lifting his head from the locker to briefly look back at the black haired teen behind him.

Craig witnesses the desperate look on Tweek's face as he leans down and plants another soft kiss to Tweek's shoulders. Normally when Tweek demanded such things, it didn't bother it so much. He would internally blame Tweek for his constant OCD and continue on. But for some reason, as he stood behind Tweek, completely in control of the situation, it irritated him. Just to fluster the other boy, he kisses his shoulder and pulls away before he can complain.

"In sets of two, Craig, sets of two!" Tweek repeats twice, his hand already buried within the depths of blonde hair as he turns around. Huffing loudly, he pulls a long strand of white hair from his head and lets it flutter from his fingers to the dirty locker room floor. He walks slowly back over to the gym bag on the bench, rummaging through it until he finds a long sleeved green striped shirt. Cradling it in his hands, he finally looks up and frowns. "I don't understand why you always have to be so mean to everyone. Especially Pip. He's never done anything to you, Craig." He picks loosely at the dark green fibers of the shirt, his attention failing to be entirely devoted to Craig.

Craig stares blankly at Tweek, an angry look on his face as he notices the teenager paying more attention to the cheap shirt than him. Walking over to him, he rips the shirt from his hands and throws it back into the bag. "I don't know…" He mutters as he pulls Tweek closer to him, though failing miserably as the bench separates their two bodies. "It's like your twitches and shit. I can't help it."

"Try, ugh, not being so angry all the time." Tweek mutters quietly. "Especially to Pip. He really doesn't deserve it…"

"I'll try," Craig slurs as he rolls his dark, brown eyes. "Now, come on." Taking a hold of Tweek's frail hand, Craig entwines their fingers and begins to walk, dragging the spastic teen behind him.

"Jesus Christ! Craig, no!" Tweek cries out, digging his heels into the ground, though failing to keep Craig in one spot as he continues to be dragged off toward the showers. "I refuse to walk in there!" He shouts, his eyes darting from Craig to the door, frightened as if someone were to walk in at any moment and catch them.

"Fine." Craig says as he lets go of Tweek's hand and throws up the middle finger. Turning around, he opens one of the shower stalls and struts in. Adjusting the water to his liking once it's turned on, he jumps in to soak his chlorine stained body before heading back out. "You don't have to walk in there, Tweek." At the news, Craig sees Tweek let out a great sigh of relief. "I'll just carry you in." Before Tweek can even utter any form of protest, his body is lifted up into the air and flung over Craig's strong shoulder. For fear of falling, Tweek wraps all possible limbs around Craig's body, his fingers included as they dig harshly into the naked back of his friend. "Fuck, Tweek!" Craig howls out, his head turning to get a brief look. Smirking widely, he brings one hand up and smacks Tweek on the bottom, his fingers stroking the soft cotton fabric covering his area of interest.

"No, Craig, no!" Tweek cries, his grip on the teenager tightening. "You're going to drop me! Somehow you're going to drop me and Jesus Christ, I'm going to fall on my head and my skull will crack open and my urgh, brains will slip out of my head and you'll slip on the water in the shower and fall on me and crush my ribs and Jesus Christ, if I come home dead, my parents will freak out and probably never let me do anything ever again because I'll be dead, Craig! I'll be dead and it will be all your, gah, fault because you dragged me into the shower! Shit! That is more pressure-too much pressure!" Tweek shakes his head from side to side and closes his eyes in a trembling fury.

"Oh, really?" As Tweek finishes his spoken train of thoughts, Craig, still holding tightly onto the other, steps into the shower and closes the curtain behind them. Shifting his hands, he grasps Tweek's skinny hips and lets him drop to the floor, his toes instantly wet by the warm stream of water. "We good?" Craig asks with a smirk on his face as he steps into the warm water falling from the showerhead. Snaking his fingers through his messy patch of black hair in an attempt to rid himself of the chlorine and dirty pool water, he looks over at Tweek.

Tweek stuffs his fingers nervously together and nods twice, a slight blush appearing on his face as he looks over Craig's nearly nude form. His fingers abandon one another as Tweek fiddles with the waistband of his jogging pants, his green eyes no longer trailing over each and every crevice of Craig's chest as he did before. Jumping quickly, he finds a pair of warm, wet hands place themselves over top his own, squeezing reassuringly. Tweek's eyes rise to find Craig looking down at him, a soft grin on his face. "What's wrong?" He asks, lifting one hand up to brush back Tweek's chaotic blonde hair, droplets of water instantly falling to his head from Craig's fingers. "Come on. Get in the water." Tweek gives Craig a hopeless look to which he laughs and quickly adds, "Your stink is a one hell of a turn off." Craig's takes a hold of Tweek's hand once more and walks him over to the shower. Once the two are situated underneath, Craig cradles Tweek in his arms and closes his eyes in pure satisfaction.

"Craig," Tweek mumbles quietly, his lips stroking Craig's collarbone with every slight movement. "This is, gah, really embarrassing! Urgh, what if someone comes in? I don't know what I'm gonna do if someone catches us and Jesus Christ, yells at us!" Tweek removes his face from Craig's chest and looks up to find the same amusing smirk present on Craig's face. "It's not funny, Craig!" He smacks the back of Craig's head almost instantly, his fingers gently tugging at the black strands.

Craig bends down and burrows his face in the crook of Tweek's neck, placing a gentle kiss on the skin. "Right, it's not at all funny," Craig is suddenly glad for the position as Tweek wouldn't see the roll of his eyes and the lift of his middle finger to the back of his head. He lets his fingers slide back down Tweek's arched back, stopping just above the rim of his track pants. He carefully dips his fingers down and awaits Tweek to push him away. When he feels nothing from the other teen, he slides his hand fully in, his outstretched palm now completely sandwiched between the waterlogged cotton pants and a pair of simple grey boxer briefs. A mere moment right after that, he feels Tweek's gangly arms pull tighter around his muscled frame and a soft pair of lips press tenderly down upon his shoulder. Craig takes this as a sign to continue and removes his hand from beneath Tweek's clothing, instead taking a hold of the pants from either side of the skinny hips and dragging down. Once the pants are to the floor, Craig grins triumphantly and pulls back to assess the look on his partner's face. "We're fine, Tweek," he reassures with a smile, guiding his fingers back up the trail of skin to Tweek's soft cheeks where he lets them linger, stroking softly. Dumbly feeling Tweek nod against his chest, he takes a large step forward until the two are firmly against the wall, the clear, clean water only penetrating the chlorine induced layers on his back.

Tweek finally reciprocates, dragging his arms up Craig's back and wrapping around his neck. Standing awkwardly up onto his toes, he reaches Craig's lips with no problem and presses; the softness bringing about a flush evident on his entire body. He feels the tip of Craig's wet tongue probe against himself to which he shyly invites, dividing the space between his lips only slightly as Craig deepens the kiss. Tweek's smile broadens as he feels his heart slam against his boney ribcage with every beat. Craig, he assumes, must notice this as he smiles back, opening his eyes only for a second to review the look on the other's face. Tweek calmly squeaks as Craig's boney fingers shadow away from his face and down his chest, momentarily stopping to drag his nail across one nipple before continuing downward. Once they nimble their way on the edge of his underwear, he sighs and pushes his lips away from Craig, resting himself below the other's sharp freckled chin. "Gah, Craig," he moans softly, his voice only slightly audible over the sound of high-powered rushing water. Tweek can barely make out a soft mumble of acknowledgment. "Can you, urg Jesus, um-," Tweek stutters carefully, nip picking his brain for the right set of words to form together.

"I gotcha," Craig replies as he nudges the other's face, soft dripping wet white hairs tickling against his sharp nose. Craig immediately knows exactly what Tweek wants and begins to give it to him, first by grabbing onto the sides of the dark blue underwear and tugging. The wet, heavy fabric immediately falls down Tweek's slippery legs and lands on the ground in a heap. Attempting to take a step out, Tweek falls forward, landing stiffly against Craig's chest. Craig allows him to grab on as he rids his feet of the wet restrains of his underwear. Once he's fully away from them, Craig beams devilishly, his eyes taking their sweet time as they take in the full effect of a completely nude Tweek. Pushing himself flush against the other, Craig begins to slide them both down the wall. Once they reach the bottom, he lifts Tweek's perfect legs to wrap around his hips. As Tweek's toes glide across the black spandex of his swimsuit, he groans loudly. "I swear you are the only one that would ever make me feel this way," he manages to spout out as another soft moan escapes his wet lips. Tweek smiles, a joyful look on his face. Craig pulls the other even closer to him as Tweek lets one of his big toes slide over the top of Craig's tight swimsuit. Once they're completely touching one another, Craig brings his hands up and sets them against the wall, trapping Tweek in place. He is sure the boy won't move away, not now anyway, but the feeling of domination was just too good to pass up.

"Are, God, um," Tweek mutters as he reaches forward and plants kisses on the side of the freckled face. Once he reaches the warm outer shell of his ear, he gently bites and sucks at the tougher skin. "Are we going to, urg, you know, do it?"

To the question, Craig merely chuckles. "Tweek, we're not in elementary school. The words 'penis' an' 'sex' aren't really that hard to say anymore." Pulling Tweek's lips back to his own, he forcibly kisses him, his tongue once more gracing over Tweek's in pure lust.

"Gah! Okay, okay! Are we going to," Tweek takes a short breather and looks around, his eyes snapping to the tacky pale pink shower curtain, "Have sex?" He whispers, his head dipping low in the act.

"I was certainly plannin' on it." Craig mutters in his monotone voice, hands sliding down the wall to press on the inside of Tweek's trembling thighs causing a small moan to fall from his mouth. "Unless you had," Craig presses his hand harshly down upon Tweek's lower stomach causing the boy to emit yet another groan in approval, "somethin' else in mind." Craig observes with extreme interest as Tweek's erection forms beneath his hard fingers and smirks. "I'll take that as my answer," Craig mutters as he tilts his body up, his one arm propped behind him while the other grabs the front of his swimsuit. He abruptly stops when he finds Tweek's hand overtop his, his eyes skimming directly over the slight bulge hidden beneath the spandex. Smirking, he props himself back with both hands and allows Tweek's nimble fingers to draw the only other remaining piece of clothing off. Awkwardly pulling it off his legs, Tweek leans forward and straddles Craig's hips with ease, taking particular care to brush their matching sensitive erections cautiously. "Jesus Christ, Tweek," Craig urges out and tosses his head back, the water spraying perfectly over his face.

"Lay down," Tweek says quietly, the seduction sparkle in his eyes intensifying as he sets his palms flat against Craig's toned chest. Shoving him to the ground, Tweek makes sure to rub his hands over the perfectly exercised, from years of sports, abdominal in front of him. As Tweek runs his hand down every crevice and in between every space, Craig gets choppier and more erratic than ever. Quickly pushing himself down upon Craig, he grabs lovingly to his cheeks and shyly beams. "You make me so happy," Tweek mutters and nudges his lips once more against Craig's. Pulling away at last second, Tweek feels Craig shift uncomfortably around underneath him.

"I'll make you even happier in a second," Craig moans out, grasping his throbbing member and slamming into his object of desire inside Tweek. Craig lays his head back against the white stained tile floor and grunts, his chest falling up and down in chaotic tempos. "Fuck," he smiles, grasping Tweek's hips tighter and staring up into the astounded face of the other teen. Bucking his boney hips up, he shows his slightly crooked teeth off and growls. "Fuck, Tweek. Move!" He commands, his fingernails digging into the teen's hips harshly, crescent moon shapes immediately imprinted into the pale skin. As Tweek continues to remain motionless, Craig grunts and pulls him up before dropping him back down.

Tweek whimpers, his face flushed in pure lustful desire. Finally snapping out of his trance, he swallows nervously, his body starting to bounce against the movements of Craig's hips. The other teen lets out a shaky moan and closes their eyes in absolute delight.

"Jesus Tweek, you can move faster you know." He stutters, removing his hands from Tweek's hips to wipe at his own freckled cheeks.

Out of the blue, something in Tweek's entire body shuts down and halts all actions; his limbs becoming completely unresponsive. His back painfully arches to the point of breaking and his head is thrown back in a whiplash pattern as if someone too strong for their own good were behind him, tugging mercilessly at the strands of nearly white hair. His throat tightens and his mouth gapes open in shock. "Craig-," he manages to spill out, his hands leaving his partners to wrap around his hurtful stomach. His vision blurs into nothingness and all he can see are seas of endless black. His head ached in utter agony. His chest burned as if his still beating heart were on fire. His toes cramped together and twisted about like someone brutally ran them over with a twenty thousand pound semi truck hauling slabs of concrete. And then suddenly, just as he felt his mind trip on the brink of consciousness, all he can see is red; blood red.

"Seriously?" Craig scoffs quickly, a slight frown present on his face. "Jesus Tweek, you come faster than anyone I know." Craig closes his eyes and continues to buck his hips up, though after a few moments, pauses when he feels the figure above him acting slightly indifferent. He opens his eyes and stares up at Tweek, a confused look covering his features. "Tweek?" Staring into the expressionless face, he begins to panic. "Tweek? Are you okay?" Craig brings a hand up and strokes it across the other's sopping wet chest. "Fuck! Are you having another seizure? Shit, Tweek! Answer me!" Craig begins to panic as he attempts to pull himself up, failing miserably.

Tweek's eyes slam open. Assessing the situation below him, he smirks deviously and gawks at the priceless look upon Craig's face. Reaching down, he grabs his cheek and yanks roughly, forcing the teen's head, which lay on the ground, to pull right. "Ow! Fuck, Tweek! That hurt!" He yelps, pushing Tweek away from him, his erection now totally dispersed as he slides out of the smaller teen's aching bottom. "What kind of dick move was that? You fucking scared me, asshole!" Craig makes a move to stand up but fails as Tweek jumps harshly back onto him, his hands placed on either side of the angry teenager's head. Looking through the black hairs covering his eyes, Craig lifts his hands and flips his middle fingers in front of Tweek's face. "Fuck off," he mutters, eyes present only in small slits on his face. He jerks in surprise as he finds himself even closer to Tweek, his eyes hungrily trailing over the boy's mouth which sucked on his left middle finger. Forcibly tearing his eyes from Tweek's succulent mouth, he looks into his eyes, his brain immediately confused at the sight before him. "Shit, man. What's wrong with your eyes? They're like…" He pauses and brings his free hand to Tweek's face, wiping at the skin below his eyes. "Red and irritated."

"Don't be silly," Tweek mumbles quietly, as he sucks harder onto Craig's middle finger. "And I'm only trying to spice things up a bit. You know," he continues, removing his mouth from his finger, a soft popping noise echoing in the shower, "Get you more excited."

Craig scoffs loudly, resting his head back down onto the tile floor. "Jesus Christ, you didn't have to fucking pretend you're having a seizure!" He groans loudly and brings his hands to his face, wiping at his tired eyes. "You could have, I dunno, blown me or something."

"Well, maybe I wanted to try something different." Tweek moves his hands closer to Craig's neck, the tip of his fingers barely brushing against the soft sensitive skin. Finally, after moments of tickling the skin of his partner, Tweek moves his hands even closer until his fingers are wrapped completely around his neck. "You know, they say people have the best orgasms when they're on the brink of death." Tweek squeezes softly and grinds his hips against harshly down upon Craig's. "When they're being strangled," Tweek glare down to the withering boy.

Craig coughs and brings his hands up, wrapping them around Tweek's slender wrists. "That's not funny," he mumbles carefully, "get off." His body, completely repulsed by the hands around his neck, tenses up. Letting go of Tweek's wrists, he begins smacking at his arms in an attempt to get the other boy off. "Fuck Tweek, you're going to kill me! Stop it!" It's at the time that Craig feels his vision blur that he starts to freak out. Flinging his legs in rage from side to side, he finds his movements useless as Tweek wraps his legs around Craig's backside, keeping them entirely in place.

"What's wrong, Craig Tucker?" Tweek asks darkly, a large toothy white grin situated on his face. "Scared of a little pain?" Tweek's hands grip the skin of Craig's neck tighter, watching with morbid fascination as the teen's face pales. His eyes suddenly glow a deep, dark red and his teeth sharpen, forcing into jagged points. Leaning down, he bites down upon Craig's nearly white lips. "You'll never hurt him again," he promises, Craig's blood dripping out of his mouth, down his chin and over his chest. With a last burst of energy, Tweek pushes his palms strictly down on Craig's neck, stopping the last flow of breath to fall down his windpipe. Once Craig has ceased all movements, Tweek removes his hands and stands up. Bending his neck to the side, he rids himself of the awful crick and smiles down at his lifeless masterpiece. Craig's face was pale, completely void of all color. His mouth was slightly open. His dead, dark brown eyes stared up at the cracked ceiling. "Cute," Tweek mutters as he nudges the body's ass with his toes. With a wave of his left hand, the showerhead turns on, all remaining water dropping into the drain next to Craig. With a happy grin, he turns and throws the shower open, walking out into the main locker room area. Spotting the open track bag, he skips over. He grabs the worn out green striped shirt and slips it over his small wet frame. Noticing then an extra pair of grey jogging pants, he slides them over the boney legs. "The things I do," he mutters darkly, stepping away from the lockers back over to the showers. On his way, he sees a mirror and gets sidetracked, his interest immediately sparked. Standing directly in front of the mirror, he frowns tremendously, the only image before him is his black haired, demonic self. "How disappointing," Damien mutters in frustration, moving Tweek's hand up to stroke across his chin. Riding himself of the sharp teeth, Damien uses Tweek's body to walk back over to the shower. He rolls his shoulders excitedly and smirks, his red glowing eyes beginning to fade, "Now the real fun starts." Taking in a deep, shaky breath, Damien closes his eyes and exits Tweek's feeble body, floating back to his own hidden carefully in the closet by the entrance of the locker room. Once Tweek has control of his body again, his knees buckle, sending his tired body to the tiled ground. "Gah, Jesus Christ, my head!" He yells, his hands immediately flying up to grasp either side of his head, his fingers tangling into his wet blonde strands of hair. His head spirals in confusion as he looks around the seemingly empty dressing room. "Craig?" He asks softly, picking his brain for any clue of what just happened in the last five minutes. "Gah, what happened?" Groaning loudly, he blinks his bright green eyes and frowns. "Craig!" He mutters excitedly, seeing the pale feet of his boyfriend's feet underneath the shower curtain. He laughs and cocks his head to the side. "And you thought you could sneak up on me, didn't you?" Lifting his hand, Tweek shoves away the shower curtain, his face falling flat almost instantly. He lets his eyes stare down at Craig's unmoving body and for a second could swear his own heart had stopped in shock. "Craig?" Tweek whimpers, sliding across the tile floor frantically. Once he reaches Craig, wet tears begin to fall from his eyes like an unwanted waterfall. "Craig!" Tweek screams, his frightened voice cracking by the time his mouth utters the last letter of the other's name. Wrapping his arms tightly around his boyfriend, Tweek reluctantly allows the tears to fall from his eyes as his entire body trembles in complete horror. "Someone help! Someone help us, please!"

Unbeknownst to the still living boy, Damien grabs his pin stripe jacket and tosses it over his white dress shirted shoulder. "Goodbye, Craig Tucker." Damien turns around to smirk in the direction of the showers before exiting the dressing room, the door slamming loudly behind him as he walks out.


	5. Chapter 5

**Disclaimer:** I do not own the cartoon South Park, nor am I affiliated with the creators, Matt Stone and Trey Parker, in any way what so ever. This piece if purely a work of fiction.

**Author's Notes: **First off, people actually favorited this story! I'm more than surprised! That's totally awesome! So, thanks first to everyone who did that! You guys rock! XD **tazarr.**, all I have to say is, you're still the sweetest person on fanfiction . net ever!!! I love getting messages back from you! Especially when I'm sitting around doodling pictures of Damien and Pip together. LOL (I can draw?! Not really...). **trulybliss08**, thanks to you too! I'm glad I could clear up a few things for you earlier as well. If you have anymore questions, just go ahead and ask! I'm happy you feel honored that I mention you though! You're so awesome and I also enjoy our messages to each other! They keep me so entertained. I love it! **InsomniaticFrenchToast**, even though you called Damien a douche (which, he is XD ), I thank you so much for reviewing! And for asking yourself questions in the review, you know how much I loved that XD XD ! **tazarr., ****trulybliss08, ****InsomniaticFrenchToast, ****assume every chapter now is dedicated to you because you guys are all amazing and you totally keep this story going!!! **And finally, **Corinnthe** whom I was unable to message back! I like stories where Damien is a little toned down, but come on, he's the anti-Christ, he's got to be an angry ball of demonic hate once in a while. That's pretty much why I wrote this story. In my eyes, Damien is this just horrible, demonic creature not some pansy push over that he's sometimes portrayed as. Honestly, Damien is like Cartman and Christophe 'the Mole'. They can't really be 'nice'. They're the sarcastic, angry characters of South Park. And with Pip, you'll just have to continue reading and see what happens. :]

And, last little bit of Author's Notes here. I am going on a very sudden road trip somewhere and am not really sure if I'll have access to a computer... So the updates might become very limited until I get back home. But while I am laying around in the freezing snow with my awesome Kyle green Trapper hat, I'll be thinking about this story and actually try to figure out where it's going! XP

_I Get A Kick Out Of You_

Chapter Five

"Hello? Is this thing on?" South Park news reporter Nick Watts lightly taps the black metal knit top of his microphone and scrunches his face in confusion. "Testing, one, two, three, testing," he mumbles, listening carefully as his voice carries through the wires and into the many expensive machines hooked up inside the Channel 4 CNN news van a mere fifteen feet from his current position in front of South Park High School. Adjusting his wrinkled purple colored tie with ease, he awaits the cameraman's signal of a thumb up before taking a deep breath and standing tall, his appearance suddenly becoming that of a god. Smiling brightly, he cocks his head to the side and begins. "Good day South Park, my name is Nick Watts and this is your evening news. Earlier today, around five o' clock Mountain Time, South Park High student Tweek Tweak was reportedly arrested due to harassment and attempted homicide of fellow South Park High student, Craig Tucker. According to eye witness accounts at the scene, who wish to remain anonymous at this time, Tweak and Tucker entered the locker room together around five o' clock P.M. Sergeant Harrison Yates of the Park County Police Department determined the horrible act to have occurred sometime around 5:30 P.M., when Tweak brutally strangled Tucker with his own hands in the communal showers. Currently, Tucker is in critical condition at Hell's Pass Hospital, just north of South Park, where they managed to restart his heart five minutes after he was declared dead in the ambulance. The Tucker family, as well as the Tweaks have both remained quiet about the situation at hand and refused to be interviewed at this time. Both high school students were well liked at the school. Tweek Tweak, son of Cindy and Richard Tweak, successful owners of Tweek Bros. Coffee shop, is one of the captains for the Boys Track and Field Team. Craig Tucker, son of Thomas and Patricia Tucker, is captain of the Swim Team as well as holding the position of Center for the South Park Football Team. Later news will be announced as soon as we receive more information. This is Nick Watts reporting from South Park High School. Back to you at the station, Steve." The image of Nick Watts immediately changes to that of a dark haired man sitting at a desk with his hands crossed elegantly, at the Channel 4 news station. "Thanks, Nick. We have just now confirmed that Tweak is located at the Park County Jail. He will remain there in solitary confinement for as long as the crime is investigated. The Tweak family has just verified to the Park County Police Department moments ago that their son and Tucker have been in a secret homosexual relationship for the past three months. They also claim that their son's violent attack to the hospitalized boy was to blame on his series of mental illnesses Tweak endures on a day to day basis, as well as a sudden fit of insanity. The Tucker family has still failed to comment on any of the specifics. As we wait for information, we can all only pray that Craig Tucker-."

Pip hastily paused the daily recorded news report on the wide screen television set with the long silver remote in his hand before the newscaster could even mutter out the last few words of his final opinion on the matter. His arms fall limp to the cushions of the fluffy light brown couch, the silver remote plummeting from his hand to the floor. His face bore that of utter shock; his light blonde eyebrows posed so high up, were made practically invisible under the matching blonde of his straight across bangs, his light blue eyes expanding as wide as half dollar pieces, his normally happy, carefree smile opening gaped. He could feel his chest constrict in absolute guilt as well as have the atrocious experience of his heart slamming ruthlessly away in his chest cavity, threatening to break his ribs as it knocked against the sternum in rapid motions. Each graceless, shaky breath makes Pip want to cry out in pain as he stares at the paused picture on the television set. The newscaster, who was shuffling seemingly important papers, had his face hidden by tufts of dark brown hair as he looked down uncomfortably, his thoughts no doubt still lingered upon the hospitalized boy he spoke of only moments before. But next to him, in the far left corner of the screen, was a blurred photo surely taken immaturely with a cell phone which held Pip's complete undivided attention. Anyone who even briefly knew him could tell you it was Tweek Tweak. If his awkwardly dressed outfit couldn't tell you, the loud and messy whitening blonde hair certainly could. It frightened Pip dearly as he looked into the vibrant and equally frightened green eyes of his schoolmate being half thrown into the back of the police car by Officer Barbrady.

"I… I, oh God no," Pip mutters quietly as he throws his head down in his hands, tears now overtly threatening to spill over his face. "This isn't what was supposed to happen… This isn't right." He cries out, his body tensing as he stands up from the couch. He hobbles to the bottom of the staircase. "Damien!" He shrieks as small angry fists bunch at his sides. Stomping widely up the stairs, he sprints to his room, throwing his door almost instantly. "Damien, where are you?" He howls out, the threatening tears from a minute before now falling without shame down the pale skin of his cheeks. "How could you do this?"

"No need to shout, Phillip," a dark voice responds, followed by the sound of angry, grinding teeth. From the murky shadows in the corner of the room steps Damien in all his unholy magnificence, his body revealing itself in one easy step of his black leathered cap toed dress shoes. "I can hear you just fine," he grins with his sharp white teeth and tosses the luxurious pinstriped black suit coat over onto the perfectly made bed, his inverted silver cross cufflinks now glistening with the light cracked through the shuttered window. Unbuttoning the top button of his freshly pressed long sleeved white dress shirt, Damien pulls at the collar and looses the crimson colored tie with steady, practiced hands. "Now, although my hearing is quite satisfactory, I would like for you to repeat to me what you just said." Damien slides his skillful fingers down the entire length of his tie, stopping only when he reaches the end; his first two fingers flipping impassively at the point. "Unless of course you've choked on your own tears," Damien chuckles and takes a step forward to better view Pip's water logged face.

"Shut up!" Pip commands bravely, fists still clenched at his sides in pure, unrequited rage. "How could you do this?" The smaller boy takes an immediate step back once Damien takes one forward.

Lifting his fingers from the tie and to his own face, Damien's red eyes skim over his nails in complete disinterest to Pip. A thought came to his mind and he chuckles, a deep growl emitting from his throat which causes the smaller boy to jump in surprise. "It wasn't hard. Honestly, I could have done much worse." Removing his fingers from his face, Damien crosses his arms over his each other and puffs his chest out (as if his last stance hadn't been intimidating enough). "You know, for being such a scrawny little fellow, that Tweek boy was quite strong," he muses, cocking his head to the side as he stares menacingly down at the figure of the boy who was nearly a foot shorter than him in height. "Craig was out in one minute flat; eyes bugging and lips-."

"Damien, stop it! Just stop it!"

Damien halts, but only for a second. "Are you going to continue to interrupt me?"

"You killed Craig! You're a murderer!" Pip shrieks, hands flying to his eyes as he attempts to rid his face of the salty tears by letting them soak into the fabric of his freshly cleaned black long sleeved shirt.

"You assume I'm Jesus Fucking Christ, Phillip!" Damien's head jerks to the side in a tick like pattern as he mentions the name of his counterpart. He closes his eyes and takes in a sharp breath before drawing his attention back to the boy. "Or have you forgotten who I am exactly?" He questions, a slight hint of disapproval present in his voice. "It's not terribly uncommon that I kill a few people here and there, you should know that I-."

"But, Craig? You had to kill Craig? He may not have liked me, but he was happy with his life!"

Damien uncrosses his arms from his chest and throws them into his front pockets. "And why do you continue asking why I killed that pathetic piece of shit?" Closing his eyes, Damien pauses patiently, attempting to rid the annoyance from his mind. "First of all, you heard it yourself. The boy is still alive. He may or may not be currently hooked up to a respirator, but he's still alive. I didn't take in account that the stupid, love sick blonde was going to perform CPR on him after I left until the paramedics decided to arrive. Things tend to change when you have little to no facts about the persons you're going after, which by the way, if you're not sure about something even so diminutive, like if someone's in a homosexual relationship with someone else, you better start hoping to every holy being out there that I don't burn a hole with my fist right through your pathetic fleshy chest and drag you back down to Hell with me." Damien's eyes tighten; his glare pressing deep within Pip's frightened, crying face. "Do I make myself extremely clear? Because please, by all means on this Earth, interrupt me again as you have twice before, if you are even confused about one little, teeny, insignificant thing."

"You never said I-,"

"I never what, Pip? I never expressed to you just how important it was to know something about those boys? Oh, well Pip, I'm sorry." Damien's voice rises, the sarcasm bleeding through. "I'm so sorry, Pip. I figured you weren't stupid. I figured you would fucking listen to me and do what I say! You never told me they were dating! You never told me their parents were close friends!" Damien throws his arms up into the air, an instant crackling noise filling the air moments after. Pip's personal objects begin throwing themselves hastily around his room in panic. "Do you know anything? Anything?! That stupid fucking Tucker kid didn't die and I now know Tweak won't go to jail because he's a minor and he's mentally fucking ill! Not to mention that his and Tucker's parents will probably die if the boy goes to a state penitentiary! I did all of that for nothing! Do you have any idea how that makes me feel?!" Suddenly, Damien's head jerks to the side in the same tick like pattern from before and he groans, setting his fingers gently to his temple. The objects immediately fall, returning to their original positions around the room. When the tick passes, he bares his teeth and snarls. After moments of contemplation, his anger disperses, returning back to the normal state it was before.

For minutes after, the only sounds forcing their way through the awkward silence in the bedroom are that of quiet sobs and grinding teeth. As time passes, the light barricading through the shades of the window begin to fade, reminding Pip it was good into November and as such, much to his dismay, it grew darker much earlier than normal. He notes in slight interest as the sparkling effect of Damien's cufflinks begins to fade, the inverted crosses both half covered in darkness as the anti-Christ stands perfectly still, his ever glowing red eyes never breaking their attraction to Pip's own. "It…" Pip pauses only to wipe at his eyes once more, his nose childishly sniffling in the process. "It wasn't supposed to be like this," Pip's eyes close.

"And do tell, Phillip, how was it supposed to be like?"

"You lied to me. You weren't supposed to hurt them."

Damien raises one long black eyebrow, then proceeds to cock his head to the side in surprise; the elongated strands of black hair flopping to the opposite side of his head. "I lied to you?" He questions back, a hint of confusion sneaking within his voice. "Again, do tell, Phillip, how did I lie to you?"

"You told me you wouldn't hurt them."

"… And this makes me a liar, how?" Damien stands up straighter than before and walks over to Pip. Stretching his arms out and down, he rests them comfortably over top the smaller teenager's shoulders. "Over the years, they've all tormented you Phillip. Called you names, harassed you, stole from you. And what did you do? What did you do to deserve their constant humiliation and bullying? You did nothing. You're innocent. You've only ever been innocent." Damien carefully smiles. "All I said was that I was going to protect you, which I did. I told you I'd never let them hurt you, which I did." He squeezes Pip's shoulder and leans down, pressing his sharp, pale nose against the other's soft, freckled one. "I told you I'll always be there for you, which I will be." Damien wraps his arms around Pip's short, slender body; his fingertips running smoothly over the material of worn blue jeans.

Pip closes his eyes and relaxes his body against the anti-Christ. Letting out a soft sigh of content, he rubs their noses together before moving a few inches away, his lips now directly over top Damien's tight jaw bone. "They've hurt me so much, Damien… They all have." Pip's mind works in overdrive as he replays the words that came from Damien's soft lips. He suddenly remembers every single beating, every single word of harassment, every kick and punch to his poor, frail body and every horrible act of violence put forth against him. "I'm so sick and tired," he wails, "I'm so sick and tired of being everyone's punching bag!"

"I only hurt them to protect you, Phillip." Damien mutters as his neck arches to the soft presses of Pip's kisses.

"You only hurt them to protect me," Pip repeats back, a small smile on his face.

Damien squeezes his arms tighter around the boy. "Do you trust me?"

Pip nods furiously and shoves his face into Damien's chest, his lips trailing over the blood red fabric of the tie. Wrapping his arms around the taller teenager, Pip grips at the clean white dress shirt. "I trust you with my life."

"Good," Damien rests his chin atop Pip's head, the light blonde hairs tickling at his fair, ashen jaw. He strokes Pip's back persistently, his fingers caressing the black cotton fabric of the shirt. "They deserved it, you know."

Pip's soft cries are muffled against the material of the tie and Damien's white dress shirt. He sniffles loudly and unwraps his arms from around the other's back; only bringing it up to whip his slobber over the sleeves of black cloth on his arm. "They…" He pauses, eyes brimming once more with tears as he heavily breaths in the scent of his unholy guardian angel. "They deserved it. They all deserved it." Opening his eyes in complete pain, he removes his head from Damien's chest and stares up at him, an unexplained look present on his face. "They're all going to pay." Pip brings his hands up to Damien's face, resting the palms against soft, pale cheeks, fingers gracing over the strands of black hair.

"They're all going to pay," Damien mutters back, his glowing red eyes drilling straight into the clean white shadowed walls of Pip's bedroom. Damien takes in a deep breath and grins, "For now, let's forget about Craig and Tweek. We'll worry about them more later on. Tell me about those four boys in the library from yesterday. And this time, make sure you tell me everything you know and more…"


	6. Chapter 6

**Disclaimer:** I do not own the cartoon South Park, nor am I affiliated with the creators, Matt Stone and Trey Parker, in any way what so ever. This piece if purely a work of fiction.

**Author's Notes: **Thank you so much tazrr., InsomniaticFrenchToast, trulybliss08, Ketamine. Methanol and Mizuni-no-neko for reviewing the last chapter. I apologize for this chapter. Not only does it blows ('nuff said), it took me forever to finish it- which is very, very sad. But on a lighter note, I am home and have a sweet ass Professor Chaos helmet.

**Just a few little things:**

"Thou shalt cry, and he shall say, Here I am." - Isaiah 58:9b

"Thou shalt stretch forth thine hand against the wrath of mine enemies." -Psalm 138:7b

Garth is the name of my car, not a real guy... How embarrassing of me.

---

**_I Get A Kick Out Of You_**

Chapter Six

The exhausted and sore teenage boy lay perfectly still on the four wheeled hospital bed. His legs, which were skinnier than most remembered, were covered with lines upon lines of squishy, purple bruises. They layered the skin as the legs curled around the generic- patient issued scratchy white bed sheets. His arms, like his legs, were littered with scratches and bruises, slumped to his side. His face however, was the worse for wear. His dark brown eyes which normally bore the look of utter disinterest to nearly everything he viewed, had large, shadowed circles surrounding them. His black hair was slicked back away from his forehead, matted and greasy; the by protect of not showering in more than two days time. His mouth, though currently the best feature upon his face, was still dreadful. It was covered in a thick and clear, plastic made breathing mask which held the elongated tube that ran down his throat; the result of a collapsed esophagus from being nearly strangled to death by his best friend and boyfriend. Although the machine strapped to his face and throat kept him alive and breathing, his chest quivered in irregular spasms.

A long, scraggly blonde haired woman sat by his side in an uncomfortable cushioned metal chair, her hand clutching at his hand in sadness and disbelieve. Her large green eyes, which hadn't blinked in nearly five minutes, stared at his pathetic, pale face. "It's just so horrible, Thomas," she mutters softly, finally turning to face her husband just a few feet next to the bed and herself, tears once more threatening to spill from her doe like eyes.

Thomas Tucker puts his right hand on his wife's shoulder and his other down upon his son's left leg. "We love you Craig, so much," he manages to choke out, looking away briefly from his oldest child to his younger daughter wrapped firmly around his leg.

"Daddy?" The long, red haired child frowns, tightening her arms around her father's thick thigh. "Is Craig goin' be okay?" She questions, sadness apparent in her voice, although her mind hadn't fully grasped the situation at hand involving her brother.

Thomas smiles and nods quickly, a little too frantically for his liking. "H-He's goin' be fine, darlin'," he answers back, "Don't you be worried too much 'bout your brother." Thomas stares back at his only son, the tears beginning to fall from his eyes as well. "He's got a head of concrete, that boy. Ain't nothin' gonna hurt him, Ruby." Pulling his hand away from Craig, he lays it softly over his daughter's long, red hair. Stroking it softly, he sighs. "Soon, he'll be back to normal beating your little head up with his smelly Football socks."

"That's gross, Dad!" Ruby hollers, detaching her arms from around her father's leg and raising her hand, middle finger in an inappropriate salute. Lifting up the end of the bed sheets, she looks in curiously. "He ain't wearing socks anyway! I checked!" The girl cocks her head to the side in wonder. "So, everything will be normal again?"

"Sure, it will. Sure, it will," he assures.

Ruby smiles widely and nods. "Great!" She smacks her hands together in a clap. "Craig better get outta this bed soon, he's so lazy! Because then Tweek will come over to our house and make me nice warm drinks and play dolls with me and have tea parties with me and brush my hair like he always does!" Ruby smiles brightly, her small body bouncing up and down in excitement. Her red pigtails follow her actions, bounding up into the air as well. Unaware of what she said, her parents suddenly grow quiet. The only sounds in the room now, besides Ruby's giggles, are Mr. and Mrs. Tucker's quiet, soft sobs. Unnoticed, she continues, the bright smile still present on her face. "I like Tweek a whole lot! I think maybe when I get older, I'm gonna have to marry him!"

Mrs. Tucker stares down at the most likely uncomfortable hospital bed which currently housed her poor teenage boy. Sniffling softly, she wipes at her face with her free hand, mascara and tears sliding innocently down her face. "We…" She pauses, her eyes completely closed as she runs the sentence carefully and disbelievingly through her head over and over again. "We like Tweek a whole lot too, honey." Mrs. Tucker feels her husband's grip tighten on her shoulder. Opening her eyes, she looks up at him and softly smiles. He gives one long, saddened nod to her before turning back to his bruised son in the bed.

Inside the small, shared hospital room of Craig Tucker and his anonymous roommate, the atmosphere was depressed; his tired parent's cried, his little sister whined and the plump, overworked nurses gave their pity whenever they happened to enter (of course at their convenience). Although, the events happening deep inside Craig's subconscious, were far from the likes of his agonizing, rented out hospital room. In his mind, he laid perfectly in a large, king sized bed, his arms and legs wrapped deliciously around the soft fleece like fabric belonging to the goose feather down comforter. His body, no longer in pain, worked as it had before: perfectly. As his dark brown eyes opened to look up at the artistically painted ceiling above him, it was then that Craig noticed he wasn't at all alone. Next to him, equally pulled around the wonderful blankets, was Tweek, nearly invisible- although white blonde tufts of hair stuck up from under the crevices of the white pillow. His breathing was steady, steadier of course than Craig's, who was currently staring down at the boy in absolute wonder. "Tweek?" He questioned softly, removing himself carefully from the blankets and putting his hand down upon the boy's back. The pillow lifts up and out pops the blonde, his whole face instantly lighting up; from his glowing light green eyes to his humongous smile plastered awkwardly over his face.

"Good morning, Craig," Tweek whispers as he slides his head out from under the pillow to meet the gaze of his disbelieving boyfriend. He uncurls himself from around the blankets and lifts himself up. Leaning forward, he pecks his soft lips carefully against Craig's. He lifts a hand and places it gently on the strands of feathery black hair. "How are you?"

"I'm… I'm fine," Craig replies, closing his eyes only briefly at the nearly forgotten touch of the boy. "What are we doin'?" He asks, pulling Tweek heavily into his lap, his fingers sliding over the obnoxious red cotton fabric of his boyfriend's pajamas. "I mean, like, doing here. What are we doin' here?" He sighs heavily and rests his forehead against Tweek's. "Fuck, I just feel so confused."

Tweek smile weakens. "Don't be confused. There's nothing to be confused about. It's just you and me. And that's all that matters." Tweek wraps his legs around Craig's midriff and sighs contently, his arms grasping around the older boy's torso a second later. "We're here because you wanted to get together." He whispers into Craig's ear seductively, his tongue slipping out to lick at the soft skin of cartilage.

Craig chuckles at the sudden display of affection and smiles. "Alright," he nuzzles his face against Tweek's neck, his fingers continuing to fiddle with the loud red fabric. "God, I can never really tell you just how much you mean to me." He mutters, almost silently. His digits wrap around the fabric of the shirt; the fibers twisting with the movements of his fingers. He plants a soft kiss against the smaller teen's pale skin and grins. "So, when are we going for another round?" Craig assumes as he takes in the facts around them; the large bed, Tweek's oddly seductive actions, the box of condoms carelessly thrown to the ground beside a heap of torn clothing. He lifts his head from off Tweek's neck and shoulder. Kissing him passionately on the lips, Craig sighs in delight. He can feel Tweek's delicate fingers glide up his naked boney back and slide to his hair, tugging gently on the dark locks. "I want you so bad," he moans, his voice deep, laced with pure frenzied ecstasy. He snakes his tongue out and against Tweek's pouty lips, a second later only to be accepted by his boyfriends.

"Well," Tweek begins, softly biting down onto Craig's tongue, a large, teasing smile plastered on his face. "You're just going to have to wait, now aren't you?" Tweek grabs Craig's face and kisses him ardently before unwrapping his legs and standing up from the bed. Now standing a few feet away from the king sized bed and completely turned around, Tweek raises his hands and unbuttons the shirt, letting it fall to the floor in a heap beside the other articles of clothing; the red fibers contradicting with the entire white atmosphere of the bedroom. Turning around, Tweek cocks his head up and bites his lip, looking curiously over at Craig's mostly unwrapped body on the bed. Slithering his fingers down his flat chest and stomach, he stops briefly at the cotton pants, his fingers toying lazily with the black elastic drawstring. He slides his fingers at the sides of his pants and pulls down; red pants soon meeting the other forms of clothing on the ground. Biting his bottom lip even harder to the point Tweek was sure he drew blood; he looks at Craig and grins, his bright white teeth seeming oddly brighter in the low light levels of the bedroom lamps. When he sees Craig's eyes hungrily look at his simple black boxer briefs, Tweek dips a few fingers in, the tips just managing to grace the skin of his hardening member. His other hand moves down the front of his briefs, his palm massaging his elongated organ against soft, cotton fibers. Just as he closes his eyes in partial satisfaction, he hears Craig give off a shaky moan. Tearing his hand from inside his pants, Tweek throws them to his side and smiles. "I told you, you're just going to have to wait." Tweek mutters, moving his arms up to cross over his chest. He turns around and struts toward the black door, his flat hips purposely swaying as he reaches the exit on the far side of the room. When his fingers grip the glass encrusted doorknob, he turns back briefly to Craig. "Come outside when you're ready," Tweek blows a kiss and winks, his other eye flashing a shade of deep red. "I'll be waiting."

As soon as Tweek leaves the room, Craig leaps from the bed and runs to the door. Shaking his body out, he smiles and sets his hand to the doorknob; a sudden cold chill sparking through his entire body. His smile fades as he twists, his mind working in overdrive to remember what was on the other side of the door. When he finds he can't exactly remember, he shrugs his shoulders and heaves the heavy, black door open. What he finds on the other side is not what he assumed it'd be. He pictured a kitchen, maybe an attached living room complete with a coffee table, chairs and a sofa but instead he found himself looking at nothing but absolute darkness. Daring not to take a step forward, he merely dips his head in. He looks curiously down and frowns. "What the-," Craig suddenly gasps as he looks down to his naked feet. A hundred tiny hands gripped at his toes, tearing and clutching at the elastic skin, forcing it to stretch uncomfortably. In an attempt to throw them off, Craig trips and falls to the clean, white carpet floor below. The hands held on tighter and eventually start to pull. Craig watched helplessly as his now aching body disappeared within the depths of total black. "Some help-," a hand smacks over his mouth, blocking his flow of oxygen to his lungs; an all too familiar sensation of death gripping to him. As the last bit of hair from his head falls into the darkness with the rest of his body, the black door closes and the perfect white room was once again completely forgotten.

Craig fell. He fell for what felt like miles, down a skinny black tube as his legs continued to be tugged at by those little misshapen, pale hands. Besides the hands, he was alone; alone, and more confused than he ever felt before. And with the loneliness and confusion came pain; excruciating, unbearable pain. It gripped at his chest, forcing his heart to beat rapidly. He lifts his hands to squeeze at his chest if that were to help the pain surging through his tired body. It failed to disperse and Craig, for the first time in his life, felt all will to live fall right down the long, black tube and land in a disgusting mass of black ooze on the floor. He closed his dark eyes for the last time, his breathing choked from his mouth once more.

---

"Oh, Garth dear, I love you," the petite brunette boldly announces, clutching the broad chested masculine man to her small body, her lanky arms wrapped tightly around his uniform covered torso. She smiles happily against the decorated navy blue uniform, her ski sloped nose taking in a quick breath of dark cologne, her bright sapphire eyes fluttering in happiness. Her perfectly manicured nails trail across the wrinkles of his uniform shirt, forcing the creases out little by little. She moves her face from off his chest and stares up into his dull, broken eyes. "Please don't look so sad, darling. We're here, together. Finally, we're together again." She sets one hand to his chest and strokes softly, fingertips grazing across the sharp, little bristles covering his chin and cheek (the result of having not shaved in two days time). "We're together," she mutters quietly, supple tears falling mercilessly down her perfectly made up cheeks. "Don't ever leave me again, Garth. Just don't ever leave me again." She throws her arms back around his muscular body, tears now soaking into the dark cotton fabric.

"Grace, please…" Garth quietly mutters back, his head dipping to rest cautiously down upon mounds of curly brown hair. "Don't make this harder than it already is," a loud sniffle later and he begins to cry as well, tears reluctantly plummeting from his dull, death seeing eyes. He lifts his head to gaze down, watching her curiously as she fiddles with the silver and gold metals decorating his uniform. "I'm home. Let's make this as great as possible." He lifts her delicately from his chest and wraps his arms delicately around her hips. He begins to sway, falling in time with the beats of the music filling the atmosphere around them with grace. "We'll never be apart again, I promise you that." Garth closes his eyes and sighs loudly, his fingers caressing the cotton fabric of his girlfriend's soft white nurses uniform.

A large crack echoed in the overpowering, brilliant dance hall. As the decrepit body falls from the elaborately decorated ceiling, the overtly excited dancers and party goers continued their festivities, paying absolutely no attention to the mangled looking body of the black haired teenage boy. As he laid helpless on the dance floor, a few dancers actually had the nerve to step over his body, some not even being as nice as they jabbed their high heeled feet right against his aching torso, causing jolts of pain to surge from his head to his chest.

"Son? Hey son, you need any help?" Garth asks curiously, immediately releasing Grace from his grasp as he kneels down to stare at the boy on the floor. "What's wrong? Were you in the war?" He asks, inquisitively taking a glance to his equally confused girlfriend by his side.

"N-No…" Craig mutters, eyes lifting from the ground and into the muted ones of Garth. Placing a scratched hand to his naked chest, he groans. "I… Oh God, my head," he gripes. Slowly sitting up on his hands and knees, he shakes his head and sighs. "Where the hell am I?" He blindly lifts a hand into the air, only slightly surprised to have it grabbed a moment later by Garth. He lifts a second hand and it's immediately grabbed by Grace. The duo lift him into the air and perfectly down upon the ground. Once fully up, Craig softly smiles. "Thanks…" Tearing his eyes away from the sight of the beautiful crowd in front of him, Craig's attention swerved immediately to a spastic looking naked blonde situated in the corner of the room beside a second large black door. The blonde drags his sharp tongue over his lips before he bites his bottom lip, his face full of absolute seduction. Behind him, the black haired boy can hear the couple continue to question him. Choosing to ignore them completely, Craig runs to the other side of the room as soon as he witnesses Tweek's left eye wink. On the way, he ran into many dancing people, tripped on highly poised women swaying with their male counterparts, and slid carelessly against the newly polished white marble floor. When he finally did make it to the other side of the room, Tweek quickly slid in the door, his hand giving off a soft wave as his body disappears from behind the large oak door. In arms reach, Craig stretched and grabbed for the blonde, failing miserably as the door heavily shuts. Growling to himself, Craig rested his hand down upon the doorknob, an even greater chill than before flowing through his nearly naked body. Shoving off the instant feeling of fright, Craig throws the door open, an ever determent look present on his face.

The room was decorated completely in shadow. Though from what Craig could see, the tall, floor to ceiling length windows were covered in large sheets of black velvet, preventing all light from entering the imposing room. A large unlit red brick fireplace was in the opposite corner. On top, resting along the shelf above the fireplace stood a hefty professionally painted portrait of a man. A long rectangular wooden table set in the direct middle of the entire room. Much like the dance floor in the previous setting, the nearly fifteen foot long table was packed with individuals (Craig counted about thirteen). Though instead of the moving individuals in the previous room, the figures at the table remained perfectly still; their hands thrown in place, their mouths slightly open as if they once talked, their stances precariously perched in uncomfortable positions against the shining wood. Glimpsing away from the figures, Craig's eyes fell upon the only moving person in the room: Tweek. His hips swayed just as they had before, his long legs gracefully walking away from Craig and to the table. Once he reaches it, he stops, his head slightly cocked to the side. Craig watches with utter interest as Tweek's hoists his body onto the table in front of the person sitting directly in the center of the group. His head juts up, his blank eyes gawking up at the portrait above the fireplace. Once he looks away, Tweek lifts his middle finger to his chest, making an impression of an inverted cross on his naked chest. He slides off the table and throws his lanky legs off, his bottom still perched. Craig can tell, even from the distance, that the other teen whispers something quietly. Jumping off the table, Tweek situates himself on the immobile person sitting in the large, red thrown like chair. Craig watches as Tweek's hands grab at the arms of the chair, crushing harshly at the person's long pale fingers. Without a moment to spare, Tweek's body jolts; his hips thump into the air, his red glowing eyes wide in fear, his face that of utter agony. Then at last, when Craig was just about to cross the room, Tweek's eyes close and his body evaporates and seems to soak into that of the still immobile figure in the red chair. Craig takes a quick step back and throws his hands behind him, a look of shock forming as he turns around to find his once only entrance now completely disappeared. When he turns back around, Craig gasps. The once immobile man sitting in the middle of the table stares off into the distance beyond Craig's head, his head tipped back, blonde turning black hair caressing down his perfectly angled face, his mouth slightly ajar to show off sharp, jagged white teeth falling from light pink gums. The dark figures head snaps back and he throws a goofy grin. "Well, hello Craig Tucker," the figure announces, the grin broadening across his pale face.

Craig's back hits the empty black back wall, his eyes wide in shock. "W-W-Who are you?"

The figure crosses one leg over the other and sits up in the chair. "Please, call me Damien, Mr. Tucker." He lifts his arms to remove the stark white suit jacket from his shoulders, letting it slip from his body and fall to the back of the red, cushioned chair. "Don't act so weird. We're all acquaintances here. We're all business men. There's no need for you to be nervous." He waves a hand in the air and the top button of his black long sleeved dress shirt comes undone. The blood red tie around his neck looses, the knot falling to the middle of his chest. He sighs in contentment and leans back into the chair. Damien makes a small face of restlessness at Craig's eagerness to flee the room. Waving an irritated hand once more in the air, a simple wooden four legged chair scrapes across the floor from the fireplace and lands right behind Craig. It nudges him from behind, forcing his knees to buckle; his body falling against the chair. Once he is planted highly uncomfortably in the chair, it slides across the floor, falling just five feet short from the front of the table. Craig grips the sides of the chair, his knuckles turning white.

"Please…" Craig mutters, his heart beating so loudly, nearly planted right in his ears. "What… What am I doing here? What happened to Tweek? Where is he? Please tell me he's okay. I just need to-"

"He's around," Damien smirks, quietly interrupting the half naked, deranged looking teenage boy. Cocking his head to the side, the smirk fades and becomes that of a caring smile. "Now, for a moment let's just forget about the Tweek lad and discuss what you came here to talk about: business." Damien carefully places his hands onto the table and entwines his fingers.

"Around?! Fuck off! You tell me where Tweek is or you're not getting' a word outta me!" Craig frowns. "And business?" He scoffs, "Buddy, I don't even know who the fuck you are and you expect me to just start talkin' to you like we're old friends?" He makes a move to stand up from the chair and pauses only to look Damien straight in the eyes, dark brown meeting fiery red in an instant battle of dominance. "Forget it, man." Craig lifts his middle fingers in an angry salute.

Damien, looking less than impressed, frowns. "Please, Mr. Tucker. Take a seat."

"Screw you."

Damien's left eye twitches in irritation. The arms of the simple four legged chair fly from their place and wrap tightly around Craig's limp wrists, small brown splinters scraping into the pale skin. The boy falls back into the chair. "Care to repeat what you just said?"

"Screw you," Craig's middle finger flies back into the air, though barely shown as his wrists fail him miserably.

Instead of thrashing out as he normally would, Damien remains completely still; fingers intertwined, one muscular leg folded firmly over the other. His face bore an expression of complete concentration, though faintly mixed with a hint of confusion and interest. "You know something, Mr. Tucker?" Damien inquires, his large front canine tooth pushing down into his thin bottom lip. A small bead of blood falls from his lip and tumbles down his chin. "I like you." His pointed tongue snakes out and licks the blood from his chin in one quick motion.

"I'm not sure whether to be flattered or creeped out," Craig decides, his body shifting uncomfortably against his wooden chair.

"In my opinion, it would be wise to be flattered more so than frightened."

Craig grimaces. "I'll keep that in mind."

"Wonderful," Damien's fingers tap against one another. Releasing his fingers from their holding grasp, he slams them onto the table, the luxurious crystal china placed sporadically on the table shakes within their spots, some threatening to fall over the edge. His eyes flicker a lighter shade of red and soon after, a large pile of perfectly organized papers slams down onto the table from somewhere above. One slender hand falls to his side where he reaches into the pockets of his expensive black slacks and pulls out a pair of slim, black rimmed glasses. He slides them up and onto his face, delicately rubbing the bridge of his nose. A light cough erupts from his voice as he lifts one sheet of paper up, his eyes squinting behind the glass window of his eyeglasses. "Oh, yes. Just if you still were wondering, your little Tweek friend is perfectly fine. At this particular moment, I do believe he is asleep on a cot in jail. Now, back to business," he mutters softly, demonic black pupils reading over the small black printed words on the beautifully embroidered paper. He takes a quick glance down to the wrist watch adoring his arm before he looks at Craig. "Happen to know what day it is?"

Closing his eyes, Craig rattles his brain for any information indicating the present day. He shakes his head and sighs, black hair obscuring his vision as he looks back up. "I… I don't remember."

Damien rolls his eyes. "Care to tell me what day you partake in unnecessary aquatic activities at your high school?"

"Wednesday, dickwad." Craig blurts out quickly, his mind completely sure on the fact at hand.

Damien nods his head, forgetting momentarily at the childish name he was called and adjusts the glasses on his face. "It would be Wednesday, wouldn't it? That would make today Thursday then."

Craig rolls his eyes, turning his head away from Damien to the other silent occupants at the table. His mind still lingered on the subject of his poor, defenseless Tweek in jail. He imagined the slender thing sitting amongst huge, muscular men, all wearing matching orange jumpsuits with serial numbers longer than pi itself. The longer he thought, the longer he could plainly see Tweek's pale face contorted in pain, blood dripping down his nose from a no doubt punch to the face by another burly inmate. "What's this all about anyway?" He thrashes his hands about in frustration, his eyes still straying to the others. "Jesus fucking Christ, you asshole! Let me go!" Much to his dismay, the harder Craig pulls, the tighter the restraints seem to become; digging harshly into his skin, surely leaving long angry marks stretched over his skin.

"Well Craig Tucker," Damien begins, a smirk forming on his face as he removes the glasses, setting them firmly down onto the large stack of papers in front of him, "it would seem that in precisely three hours, forty minutes and thirteen seconds, you will be dead." Glancing back down at his watch, he grins. "Pardon me, three hours, forty minutes and five seconds."

Craig rips his eyes away from the frozen bodies and back to Damien. Cocking his head to the side, he scowls. "Excuse me?"

"I'm sure I did not stutter, Mr. Tucker, you obviously heard me." Damien entwines his fingers back together, the grin growing steadily on his face as he makes small glances down to the expensive, black and silver Rolex watch.

"Who the fuck do you think you are? What is this? Some kind of sick joke?" Craig makes another move to stand from the chair but fails miserably as he is thrown back down, the restraints on his wrists digging down tighter into his skin; the wood now cutting through the mandatory plastic hospital band. "How would you even know that?"

Damien drags his eyes from the watch for seemingly the last time and quirks an eyebrow toward Craig. He rests both feet firmly to the ground and pushes back, the flat wooden bottoms of the chair scrapping against the shiny, diamond encrusted marble floors below. "I assure you Mr. Tucker, this is no joke." As he stands, the papers immediately disperse to the other members of the table. He takes a quick step to the side and delicately pushes the large chair in. Gazing over the table, he makes sure every single non moving member has a small stack of papers before slowly walking around to the front. He crosses both arms over his chest and leans against the front of the table, his feet outstretched. "And as far as whom I am, I am sure I made that perfectly aware to you earlier."

Craig's eyes widen as the realization finally sets in. "I'm dyin'?" He questions, his face full of ever present confusion. "But… I don't really understand. Back in the locker room, with Tweek… I thought I, well… Died."

"Well, technically you did." Damien pushes himself off the table and stands fully straight. "Though, it may seem that the paramedics revived you a few minutes after."

"So, how am I dying?"

"Good question," Damien smirks wildly, his sharp canine teeth falling from glossy pink gums. Uncrossing his arms from his chest, he shoves them into the pockets of his pants. "You're in a coma."

"That doesn't mean I'm dying, asshole!" Craig screams harshly as he flails his head about, greasy black hair clouding his vision.

Damien's smirk falls, replaced moments later by a short, sloppy frown. "Let me clarify just a few things for you then." Taking his right hand from his pocket, he snaps. Craig watches in utter surprise as the person on the far side of the table, dressed completely in dark blue, stands straight up from their crooked, hunched over position. Their eyes were completely clouded over, a silken white glaze painted outwardly over the balls. Their face, though very human in all their features, from the full, thick brown beard gracing their chin to the awkward lopsided shape of their pointed ears, appeared very inhuman. As they stood fully, their bones cracked with years of malnourishment and abuse. The man's hands slammed to the table in a blind mess and grabbed at the documents. Once in his skinny hands, he sauntered over to Damien and held his hands out. The more presentable suit clad man grabs at the papers almost immediately. He lifts his fingers and brushes the dreary looking man away, allowing him full access back to his uncomfortable position at the end of the table. Forgetting altogether of his black rimmed glasses, Damien shoves the paper closer to his face and begins. "Cerebral Hypoxia is, for I am sure you don't know, the condition in which brain tissues are starved of oxygen. It occurs from many things; carbon monoxide poisoning, cardiac arrest, head trauma, or in your case, strangulation. Once Tweek Tweak wrapped his skinny little nasty fingers around your neck and squeezed, your lungs failed to bring the appropriate amount of oxygen into your lungs therefore causing your body to shut down from the inside out. Sometime later, your brain failed to operate appropriately triggering you to fall into a coma a little bit later." Damien removes the paper from his face and grins. "Now, isn't that just wonderful," he muses as he tosses the paper uncaringly to the marble floor below. Making eye contact with Craig, he smirks, eyes immediately sparkling a lighter shade of red. "Please, take a moment, all the time you need. Let it soak in."

Craig stares back at Damien, refusing to break eye contact with the demonic figure. "I'm dying…" He mutters softly, raising an eyebrow in confusion only to see Damien nod a second later. "You mean… Oh shit, man. I'm dying."

"And tell me, how does that make you feel?"

"Like shit. You couldn't have guessed that before?"

"Let me just be the first to say your facial expressions aren't entirely the easiest to read," Damien nods and leans back against the table. "And besides," Damien begins, "I want to hear you say it."

Arms completely relaxed against the makeshift wooden restraints, head lay back against the back of the chair, legs drooped out in front, Craig felt more depressed than he ever had before. In an instant he imagined every single thing he had ever done; walking to school with his friends, riding his bike to work and back through the harshest of winters that produced nearly three feet of snow in a single clump, winning first place in the butterfly for swimming last month and of course, every little coffee coated peck on the cheek he received from his blonde, spastic boyfriend. His heart burned in complete agony and his dark eyes turned to small slits below his forehead as he harshly held back pathetic tears. Craig, bottom lip now trembling, attempted to keep a straight face, though deep down he knew full well that he would never, ever experience any of those things ever again. "I can't die," Craig whispers, eyes drawn down to the crease in his pants. "I can't die, not now! Not fucking now!"

Damien's long fingers tap against the wood in a well exercised steady tempo. "And why not?"

"Fuck, man! There's shit I still need to do!" Craig sighs heavily, his breath hitching in his throat as he exhales. "I need to graduate, get a job, get married, have little, dumb kids for god's sakes!"

"Perhaps it is just me, but don't you find those things a little redundant?" Damien frowns, "Getting married and having kids? Is that truly what is entirely keeping you from not wanting to die? There is nothing else you want to do?" Craig frowns heavily, his crooked two front teeth biting down into his lower lip. Craig watches with complete disinterest as the darkened man pushes himself from off the table, causing it to shift backward; the frozen occupants of the table moving along with the table as if they were permanently attached. "There is nothing else out there for you, Craig Tucker?"

The room before both men began to grow even darker than before, the shadows hiding in the far corners of the room uncovering themselves from their secret spots as they trailed across the floor and up the walls. Though without the help of his now closed dying eyes, Craig can still hear the soft cracking of bone against bone, clothing tearing to bits, small whimpers of delight produced from an open groaning mouth. As he hears the last staggering snap of bones shortening and tightening into place beside a loud pressured cry, Craig's eyes fly open. He's instantly met with the same sparkling light green eyes he'd woken up to several times, the same green eyes he gazed hungrily into as he wrestled for dominance on his bed, the same green eyes he secretly wished he adorned on his boring, uncharacteristic face, the same green eyes belonging to that of Tweek Tweak. "Tweek…" Craig mutters softly, exhausted eyes half shut.

"There's nothing else you want, Craig?" Tweek asks sadly, his bottom lip trembling in distress. "Jesus Christ! How could you say that?" The smaller of the two boys seats themselves carefully down onto Craig's lap, knees uncomfortably drawn up to his naked chest, sharp toes digging into Craig's flat, muscled stomach. "How could you say that to me?" He argues, his unstable girlish voice cracking.

At that moment Craig can feel the restraints around his wrists begin to fall away, sliding back into the original position on the chair. Forgetting completely about the ignorant pain coursing through his arms, Craig stared lovingly into the ever appealing eyes of his blond partner. "I didn't mean that…" He whispers, hands finally rising to touch either side of Tweek's pale, perfect bone structured face. "I can't die now… I can't die without seein' you one last time. I can't die without telling you how much I care for you. I can't die without you, Tweek." His thumbs stroke carefully over flawless rosy cheeks.

"Please, don't die, Craig," Tweek stutters out, eyes now fully closes as he leans forward to rest his forehead against Craig's. "Jesus Christ, I just, gah, couldn't stand living without you…" He gently slides his face to the side and strokes Craig's awkward shaped nose against his own pointy one. "Please, don't leave me. Don't leave me again."

"Tweek, I'll never leave you. I swear to you, I'll never leave you," Craig promises, his own eyes closing, his face perfectly content. As he lets his fingers fall from the other boy's face, they wrap tightly around his chest, bringing him even closer than before. Craig feels Tweek's long legs tentatively fall from their place in front of his chest to either side of his weakened legs, gripping a second later around the back of the chair. As he grips tighter and tighter, he hears Tweek's breathes grow steadier and steadier. "I'll never leave you again," he cries, black hair obscuring his vision. With one last squeeze, Craig feels Tweek stop breathing; the boy's pale arms and legs instantly growing limp against his body. Quickly pulling away, Craig screams. Swiftly letting the boy fall from his arms, he falls to the ground, disappearing into the ground with a cloud full of ashy black dust. Craig's eyes grow wide in surprise and his breath jams itself stuck in the back of his throat. Tearing his eyes away from the empty sight of his boyfriend, he looks forward, tears streaming down his face. "Where is he?! For God's sake Damien, where is my boyfriend?"

"As I said before," Damien begins, the same cocky smirk plastered on his face, "he's around." The tall, demanding older teen leans down in front of Craig and rest both hands on top of sore, nearly bleeding wrists. He squeezes the bone tightly and cocks his head to the side. "Now tell me, is there anything else you want, Mr. Tucker?"

"Tweek, you asshole! Please, I want Tweek! I can't die! I need to see him again! Bring him back, please!"

"That's what I thought," Damien chuckles, fingernails digging deeper into pale, abused flesh. "I don't normally do this," Damien begins, eyes rolling as he continues to gloat, "but, seeing as how I like you, how about we make some kind of deal?"

"A deal…?"

"That's right, a deal." Damien removes his hands from Craig's and stands to his full height, shoving both hands into his pockets. "You do something for me and I'll do something for you. Or how you say it, I'll scratch your back, you scratch mine."

Craig thinks for a moment, his head dipping low to his chest. "What do I have to do?"

"We'll worry about that later, now won't we?" With a snap of his fingers, Damien makes a move to sit down. At last possible second, a chair from the darkest corner of the room slides across the floor and lands beneath Damien's bottom, cushioning him fully. "Let's talk about what I can do for you." Resting his elbows onto his knees, Damien leans forward, his sharp, canine teeth jutting out in an unusually caring smile. "In exchange for something very, very small, I will let you leave this horrible haven you call your subconscious and return to your dull, meaningless life on Earth. I'll make certain you live a horribly wonderful life."

"I don't understand…" Craig mutters, raising his head only to stare into Damien's eyes just a few inches away. "That's not possible. How can you do that?"

"I hold power over life and death, Mr. Tucker." The red in Damien's eyes sparkle against the complete darkness of the large room. "I have given away and I can take away whatever I please."

Craig raises an eyebrow and scoffs. "This is crazy," he mutters as he brings a hand up to wipe away the tears falling from his eyes. "I honestly don't know why I am listenin' to you. That's not possible. You know that and I know that."

"Mr. Tucker, you'll never know then, if you don't try." Damien leans forward and brings down Craig's hand, an instant chill running through the injured boy's body. "Thou shalt cry, and he shall say, here I am." He wipes away the tears cascading from Craig's dark eyes with a quick swift of his thumb and grins. "You have three hours, fifteen minutes and thirty two seconds to decide. After that, your mother and father will make the decision to pull the plug keeping you alive and you'll fade away from this reality and all of this will become nonexistent, as it was before you were born. After that happens, your precious Tweek will be sent to jail and will rot there for the rest of his miserable, aching life, terrorized by visions and dreams of you dying. He'll replay the same horrid scenes over and over again in his mind before he finally goes crazy and throws himself off the room of the maximum security prison." Damien leans back in his chair and smirks wildly, "Choose wisely now."

"I…" Craig closes his eyes and whimpers, "I'll do it. I'll do whatever you want me to do. Just please, don't let me die… I can't die. Please, I just can't. Not now. Let me go home…"

"Thou shalt stretch forth thine hand against the wrath of mine enemies, Mr. Tucker." Damien smirks to himself and crosses one leg over the other, the raised leg reaching out and stroking the soft tortured skin of Craig's leg. Damien's eyes fully close, his long black eyelashes and messy raven hair fluttering against the light breeze in the air caused by the slightly open window on the far side of the room. Once his breathing grows to a steady tempo, the room begins to fade to complete anonymity, fading to black almost instantly. As Craig looks around the room in mild fright, all he can see is the sparkle of perfectly sharp, white canine teeth and all he can hear are the sounds of the party in the next room carry on as if nothing else happened; as if nothing else mattered.


	7. Chapter 7

**Disclaimer:** I do not own the cartoon South Park, nor am I affiliated with the creators, Matt Stone and Trey Parker, in any way what so ever. This piece if purely a work of fiction.

**Author's Notes: **I am totally thrilled to say that the last chapter was the most read one in this story so far!  
Which I think is totally ironic because it was my least favorite (probably because it look me like two and a half weeks to write it out)! I hope you all like this one just as much! Thanks, as always, to my favorite reviewers EVER, **tazrr.** who actually colored a picture on deviantart for this story (which is totally awesome!!!!), **Ketamine. Methanol** who told me that the last chapter was awesome even though I still have mixed feelings XD, **trulybliss08** who I hope had a wonderful Hannukah (and for listening to my awesome lutheran story of my mother buying NOT kosher star of david cookies XD)! Thanks also to **KATAANGFOREVERanEVER ** because they are my new friend (I met them pretty much today) and have the longest fanfiction name ever and for being my friend on deviantart LOL and of course to the wonderful **xxXK-SquaredXxx** for reading the story even though they don't like Dip. You guys need to definitely check out their stories, I am a huge closet fan of all of them XD because they all rock, seriously. And they upload like mad everyday.

**Just a few little things:**

"Be on your guard; stand firm in the faith; be men of courage; be strong." - 1 Corinthians 16:13

"If after the manner of men I have fought with beasts at Ephesus, what advantageth it me, if the dead rise not? let us eat and drink; for tomorrow we die." - 1 Corinthians 15:32

"And put a knife to thy throat, if thou be a man given to appetite. Be not desirous of his dainties: for they are deceitful meat." - Proverbs 23:2-3

The car in this chapter (presumably Damien's car) is a design concept car, meaning it's not actually a real car, just based on that of another real one. I learned that it may actually be made sometime, but as far as when, I have no idea. The car is a black Bentley s3 e design with a 6.2L V8 engine. You can view it by going to google images and just typing in 'Bentley s3 e'. A crap load of pictures come up, it's the green one. ... I like cars XD

---

**_I Get A Kick Out Of You_**

Chapter Six

As one would look at South Park High School, one would notice the big picture. It was a relatively medium sized school, housing, besides the teachers, the students from South Park, Middle Park and North Park respectively. One would notice the great architectural job and hard work that put in to creating the rectangular shaped, decent dark brick building, the wonderfully smooth white columns smacked straight in front of the large glass doors in the front of the school, and even the perfectly spiky grass that was currently, like most of the year, covered in a beautifully fine layer of sparkling white snow. One would notice the grand smiles placed on the administration's face as they stood in front of their own classroom doors, perky every morning to come to the school to teach the directed curriculum and divulge them in the wonders of the world to the very intelligent students. Then at last one would notice the students themselves, dressed accordingly in appropriate fashions to the school handbook guidelines, their faces decked out with radiant, glossy smiles, their eyes bright with the start of a new day. Though upon closer examination of the school and its current inhabitants, one would see an entirely different picture, varying completely from the wondrous first glance it seemed to hold. The school, nearly thirty five years old in age, began to crumble; bricks sliding from their cushioned hold against the metal frame, graffiti littering the walls in shame, enormous crater sized potholes broken into the sidewalk and stairs leading to the front doors. The teachers grinned harshly, no doubt mysteriously scheming against the students as they thought up horrendous lesson plans to throw at their students in a fit of blind fury. And at last, one would see the true side to the students. Their clothes were less than appropriate as they showed more than a little private parts of their body, their glossy smiles in use only for mindless flirting with the other sexes in the area, their eyes bright and hazy either from the illegal usage of marijuana sold in nearly every school bathroom or the next day effects of hangovers from the nearly busted party thrown last night on the edge of town. Though most of the students lingered the halls in a blind sense of laziness and confusion, some still seemed to find enough brain cells to filter into various classrooms.

In one such classroom, teacher absent as usual, the atmosphere appeared to be more of a zoo than an actual learning establishment. A few students jumped from desk to desk, laughing hysterically while some sat patiently at their desks, heads down in books while they scribbled quickly over unfinished sheets of homework given out days, perhaps weeks ago. In the middle of the room, a large group of students stood, laughing and grinning wildly as one such student, whom sat at a desk, talked. "Dude, guys, seriously, you guys gotta check this out!" The grating male teenage voice belonging to the occupant placed in the direct center of the room rang out in a series of irritating pitches, ranging uncomfortably from high back down to low as if the male still continued to furiously fight with the hysterics of puberty. "Guys, seriously! Be quiet!" He hollered, sending only a few students around him in silence as he grinned, the rotund skinned rosy cheeks busting out like a pair of misshapen unappetizing cupcakes. "The other day I learned that if you say 'beer can' with an English accent, you're saying 'bacon' with a Jamaican accent!" The entire group, as a whole, laughed loudly once more causing a groan to erupt from the few legit studying students. A few bent over in hysterics while others merely sniggered to themselves.

"Man, really Cartman? That one again?" One such boy calls out, his dark skinned hands shoved defensively at his sides, fingertips sliding against the dark blue fabrics of his jeans. Raising his arms, he throws them over his purple sweater covered chest.

Cartman laughs even louder than before and leans back, his body fat nearly causing his entire body to fall straight out of the desk and onto the floor. Unfortunately, he remains safely in his seat. He lifts a yellow gloved hand to his face and pretends to wipe away invisible saddened tears. "Token! You're just saying that because you're black!" Cartman kicks his legs back and forth repeatedly, "You just don't like it because I'm talking about your people!" Sniggering once more, he cocks his head to the side, "If you don't like it, then why don't you just go hang out with the scrawny blond, faggy Englishmen?" He throws his pointed finger in the air and over to a pair of quiet, whispering blonds seated directly by the fogged windows. Pip sat uncomfortably, his hands folded nervously in his lap as the other boy, in a long sleeved orange shirt and khaki pants nodded his head, nicely listening to the words falling from the other British boy's mouth. With a smirk on his face, Cartman watches as Token rolls his dark brown eyes and returns to his desk on the far side of the room, instantly striking up conversation with a short brunette wearing a rayon blue scarf.

"Dude, Cartman! That was pretty funny!" Another student hollers from the outside of the small knit group.

"Forget about Token," yet another adds loudly, pushing them forward to take a good look at the fat boy in the chair. "How about another? You got one?"

Both arms now crossed over his chest, Cartman sniggers. "Boy, do I ever. Okay, so there is this guy at a-"

An annoying ear piercing whistle erupts throughout the entire room, successfully silencing more than ninety percent of its inhabitants. "Hey everyone!" A blond, grey hooded boy yells loudly as he stands dangerously atop a cracked and creaking wooden desk, orange gloved hands cuffed around the outside layer of his mouth. "Look whose back!" He hollers, guiding all attention from Cartman to the opened door by the chalkboard and teacher's desk. A moment later, he is thrown from the desk and onto the dirty tile ground as a nearby student accidently bumps into the metal legs. After the initial shock of blood spouting from the blond's nose, every student in the classroom turns their head away. Slowly walking in, looking worse for wear, was Craig Tucker. His appearance seemed normal, though upon closer look, his eyes still bore the same reddened dead look with large black bags dragging underneath them, his skin was paled more than normal, and at last, his body seemed weaker. Though, forgetting about the pain in his body, the teen lifts his left hand and flashes the middle finger. Instantly thereafter, students run from their spots in the room over to the previously bed ridden boy, a stream of questions immediately filing from their mouths (no doubt wanting to catch the first bit of juicy gossip from a firsthand source).

Cartman, looking less than happy, leans back in his desk and scoffs. He rolls his dark brown eyes and turns to his left at the bleeding blond on the floor. "Jesus Christ, Kenny! I was kinda in the middle of something! Everyone left!" He hollers, eyes closing briefly in irritation. "Why'd you have to announce to everyone the faggot arrived?!" Huffing to himself, he looks away from the homely boy back to Craig, watching with much disinterest as he received hugs and kisses from nearly every person in the room.

Kenny manages to painfully lift himself off the ground with little ease. One hand presses firmly against his nose in utter pain and in an attempt to stop the blow flow, the other reaches across the desk to his left where he grabs onto a brand new full box of tissues. Before he has a chance to grab, a small hand rests upon his. An instant warm sensation files through his entire body, though refusing to show off any change of color in his cheeks. Smiling over at the little blonde dressed completely in blue, Kenny taps the person's hand with his first two fingers.

"You ah, you shouldn't tip your head back, Kenny! It'll make all the blood go down your throat! I mean, geez, don't health class teach you nothing?" The blonde reaches forward and scoops Kenny's ratty blond bangs out of his face, revealing bright hazel eyes. "There, now you can see too!" A small blush appears on his face as he grabs a hold of Kenny's head, dipping the boy's head until his sharp chin hits the soft material of his ratty, stained white tank top. With a delicate hand, he grabs a tissue out of the box and sets it to Kenny's nose; the other boy's fingers instantly reaching up to hold onto the paper, their fingers momentarily making contact. Tearing his hand away in a blushing frenzy, the blue clad boy grabs the entire box and sets it down in Kenny's lap.

"Thanks Butters," Kenny smiles brightly, slightly yellowed, crooked teeth present. Kenny laughs as Butters lifts his formed fisted hands and starts to knock them repeatedly together in a nervous pattern, his knuckles cracking once in a while as the tension builds in his joints. Hearing a soft mutter of 'oh hamburgers', Kenny's smile soon starts to fade as Butters walks away, no doubt joining the more shyer type of students present in the classroom. Huffing, Kenny tears his eyes from the retreating blond and back to the overweight brunette. "Shit, Cartman. You really gotta be like that, don't you? Come on, Craig's back! I had to have a reason?" He asks curiously, a snap in his voice as he makes a move to sit on the desk behind him. "You're crazy, man. Go fuck yourself or something."

Cartman huffs loudly and cocks his head to the side, his eyebrow rising in slight delight to an idea forming in his head. Abruptly standing from his desk, he manages to knock over every sheet of paper onto the ground and somehow knocking Kenny to the floor once more –the boy grabbing onto the side of his head instead of his still blood gushing nose. Within moments Butters runs to Kenny's side, helping him up as he stammered on about hospital visits and the greater possibility of being grounded if Kenny somehow got blood splatters on his brand new light blue hooded sweatshirt. Cartman saunters over to the large ground and manages to slide himself in, stopping only when he is completely flush on Craig's side. "Craig, Craig, Craig…" He mutters quietly, the slight lisp in his voice now evident as he whispers into the other boy's ear. The majority of the group halts their conversation to stare back at the two completely different boys. "How are you feeling? How's your neck? I see slight bruising… How bad does it hurt?" Cartman bats his eyelashes and wraps a free arm around Craig's navy blue sweatshirt covered shoulders.

"Fuck off, fatty!" Craig responds, face now void of any emotion as he moves away from Cartman to remove the heavy arm from his shoulders. "It's none of your fucking business." He raises his middle finger in defense to the other teen and frowns. "And since when do you care?"

"But, Craig!" Cartman scoffs as he puts a hand to his chest, his face shriveled in mock hurt and disappointment. "I can't believe you would even think about saying that to me! That hurts Craig that really hurts."

"What do you want, Cartman?" Craig questions, eyes narrowed, arms thrown heavily across his chest in extreme aggravation, long middle fingers tapping his upper arm.

"I just want to know how you are is all!"

Craig raises an eyebrow and looks over toward the rest of the gawking group. Rolling his eyes, he scoffs. "I'm fine."

With a smirk on his face, Cartman slides himself back to Craig's side and throws his arm back around his shoulders, giving him a quick squeeze. "I'm so glad to hear that, just so glad." Cartman takes in a deep breath, "So Craig, tell everyone, what's it like to be a certified ousted faggot?" The entire room grows quiet as Cartman finishes his sentence, all eyes directly straight to the touching duo. Within the silence only the sounds of rough breathing, Kenny's coughing (as he failed to listen to Butters' suggestion of keeping his head down instead of back), and the occasion awkward grunt and pencils dropping from the platforms of desks.

The harsh sound of grinding teeth echoes within the small space of Craig's mouth. However, after a few moments of internally debating with himself, he finally halts the action, figuring his teeth were already screwed up from lack of braces and years of getting into fist fights (many harsh blows to the face) and didn't need any more abuse shoved upon them. He closes his bloodshot brown eyes and takes in a deep breath. "Cartman, get the hell away from me right now," he whispers quietly, afraid to open his eyes to view the judging looks of his classmates. He fails to calm himself down and before he knows it, his eyes are reopened in glared little slits, directed firmly across the entire room to a large crack in the wall most likely caused when someone decided it was okay to get into a fight with the mysterious French foreign exchange boy. "I said, get the hell away from me right now, I mean it."

"Aw, Craig, come on…" Cartman gives another fake warm hearted glance to the boy in the blue wool hat and squeezes his shoulder. "So tell us, what's boning the OCD cocaine addict like?" At that moment a few students decide to silently slip away, fear on their faces at they manage to predict the future of what might soon decide to happen. "You're top right? Ha! I can't even imagine you ever letting the Spaz take the reins during your 'super fun time'." He lets a few more chuckles fall from his mouth before giving Craig's shoulder another tap.

Truth be told, if Cartman hadn't brought Tweek into the conversation, Craig would have quietly stepped away from Cartman, lifted his middle finger and flashed the bird to every single student in the classroom. He would have walked to his normal desk, sat down, thrown his ripped black bag to the floor and put his head to the table, perfectly intent on taking a nice, quiet nap while he took off his ear muffed blue hat to use for a pillow. Though, this wasn't the case as Craig continued to find himself standing at the front of the classroom, a light blush sweeping over his cheeks, his eyes still in slits, and his body slightly trembling from a mix of pure hatred and near embarrassment. He takes a short turn and faces the more than chubby brunette. "You are such an annoyin' little shit, you know that?" Craig instantly balls his right hand in a perfectly shaped fist and throws it to the red clad teenager, knocking him square in the jaw and onto the floor. "I fuckin' hate you!" He hollers as he stares down at the soon to be bruised face of Eric Cartman. As Cartman begins to roll around on the ground in a useless attempt to get up, Craig marches over, stands directly on top of him, bulky untied black Dr. Marten boots situated by either side of the fat boy's arms. Hocking up a large pile of spit, he lets it slide from his mouth down to the larger boy's tight unbuttoned red sweater. He bends over and rests his arms to his knees, bottom sticking out as he tries to get as close as possible to Cartman's face without actually having to touch him. "And let me just tell you somethin' you ignorant, fat slob. You will never, in your entire life, have better sex than me and Tweek, you got that? You will never feel love like Tweek and I do." Throwing up his two middle fingers, he shoves them rudely to Cartman's face before grabbing his bag from the teacher's desk. "You'll be lucky if a girl even decides to touch you, tubby."

"Shut up, you fucking hick!" Cartman hollers, a failed attempt to gain just a little bit of respect back from his peers. Finally managing to get up after moments of confusion, Cartman finds himself thrown back down to the ground, this time landing on his stomach, as a harsh booted blow launches itself at his back. Cartman turns his head to the side and frowns, "What the fuck man? The fuck?!"

As the last bell rang, Cartman found himself looking at the figure of a tall muscular brunette clad in a pair of dark blue jeans and an equally dark green v-neck shirt. Lifting his fingers to his mouth, the messy brown haired boy grabs at the nearly finished cigarette falling from his lips. He takes one last long drag before flicking the bud in Cartman's general direction. "Eet eez not keek a 'omophobe day?" The Frenchman takes one look down to his muddy dark brown combat boots, a look of confusion stretched over his handsome face before sauntering away, past the entire gawking group over to the two British boys, taking a seat at the windowsill next to the orange clad one.

"I hope you burn in Hell, Eric Theodore Cartman." Craig says softly, his eyes glared in the direction of Cartman on the floor. Grabbing the strap of the bad tighter than before in an angry fit, the black haired boy starts to walk, the group immediately making room for him to return to his desk. "I'll make sure of it."

"You're the one going to Hell, faggot!"

Craig turns back around slowly; anger completely vanished from his face (save for the immense scowl) as his eyes set back upon that of Cartman. "We'll just see about that then, won't we?" The group immediately disperses thereafter, leaving Cartman on the ground and Craig retreating to his simple, broken brown desk near the back left corner of the room. He throws his bag to the ground by his feet and takes a seat, shoving his feet out and comfortably onto the person's seat in front of him. He lifts his arms and grabs at the bottom of his dark blue hooded sweatshirt. Removing it from off his chest (accidently pulling the hat off with it), he throws it to his desk in annoyance. He lifts his arms and crosses them firmly over his chest, covering the Tweek Bros. Coffee logo printed on the light green colored shirt. "We'll just see…"

---

Walking out of the school after a tiring, long and annoying day, Cartman was more than just a little bit irritated, especially when he recalled every single incident that happened to pertain to him during the day – getting punched by Craig, kicked in the back by Christophe, sent to the office by Garrison, and thrown up on by Butters during the mandatory viewing of the pregnancy and birthing video during second to last period health class. He grumbled incoherently to himself as he lastly recalled having to walk by himself to the far end of the school to retrieve a spare white undershirt from his locker just before last period that he found was two sizes too big for him which gave the allusion of him being nearly twice his size (if that were even possible). Yet still, after all the events that occurred throughout the entire day, Cartman refused to burst, instead allowing his emotions and violent complaints to bottle up in his mind. So as he walked down the front brick steps of South Park High School, hands in the pockets of his dark brown khaki pants and head drawn down to the ground in absolute resentment to everything around him, Cartman wished for nothing more but to leave the rest of his thoughts from today and curl up on his couch, maybe a burrito in his hand and his precious Mr. Kitty curled up, purring in his lap.

Though at the exact moment that Cartman took the last step down from off the steps and began walking in the direction of his house, something caught his eye. "What the…" He mutters quietly as he steps away from the sidewalk and onto the grass which was currently covered in a near one foot of snow from last night's random blizzard – though when thought about, not so horrendously random as to the location they lived. Huffing to himself in discomfort at the snow now soaking through his pants to his trembling calves, Cartman continues to trek on, his mind now focused on just one thing. When he finally makes it to the parking lot, he pauses and looks around in mild interest before he descends upon the last car parked curiously at the edge of the lot. "Seriously? Who would leave these here?" Cartman asks himself, his hand drifting across the rounded rear end of the vehicle. "Bentley, nice," he mutters, thumbs dragging across the winged silver diamond encrusted symbol on the rounded trunk. When he finishes trailing the giant B symbol in the circle, Cartman lifts a hand and grabs the oddly placed platter full of sweet smelling cookies from off the car, successfully scratching at the beautifully sparkling black paint job. "Oops," he snorts with laughter and takes a step back, platter of cookies in hand. "Not my problem." With that, Cartman stuffs two delicious dark brown cookies in his mouth and gasps in surprise, the taste buds adoring his tongue immediately exploding in absolute luscious pleasure. His brown eyes grow wide before shutting completely, his mind fathoming the possibility of eating something so grand. When the tray is thrown back onto the rear end of the Bentley, Cartman dives at them, managing to eat every single desert in under a minute's time. A soft moan escapes his mouth as he brings chubby fingers up, running the length of his tongue over his digits as he tries with little success to remove all the sweetening cookie particles from off his fingers. When at last he is finished, a broad frown appears and a soft burp escapes his lips. "So much for that…" Cartman mutters, sadness overflowing him for the nth time that day. As he turns back around to head back into the direction of his home, a noise startles him, forcing the overweight boy to turn back around to the car.

As the back left door slowly flings open, Cartman's face bares a look of confusion. Taking a step back to the car, he laughs. "Hey, if you're mad about the cookies, forget it! You left them out there!" He hollers, cupping his hands around his lips to accentuate his deep, bass voice. "'Ay!" He yells once more, huffing and stomping over to the open car. Moving around the back end and peaking inside, he finds the car to be completely empty, save for another silver plate of cookies and a note flush against the startling luscious black leather seats. Instantly stepping inside the car, Cartman takes a seat upon the leather and crosses one leg over the other, grabbing at the tray of cookies and setting them firmly down upon his lap. Lifting three cookies to his mouth, his eyes close in ecstasy. "Goddamn…" Swallowing them nearly whole, Cartman begins the task of finishing off all the delicious treats. Once the platter is empty, he lets out another atrocious burp and leans back against the leather. For a few moments he allows his eyes to wander over the expensive décor of the inside of the car before turning his attention back at the note placed by the empty tray. His eyebrows wrinkle in confusion and he can't help but let out a snort. "There's more than that if you stay for the ride?" Cartman questions curiously, lifting his head up to look out of the car door. "OK?" Instantly when the words fall from his lips, he jumps in his seat, the suicide doors snapping closed, the door immediately locking in place for safety and containment of the overweight boy. "What the fuck is going on?!" He hollers as he hurriedly sits up from the seat and begins toying with the inside handle of the door. Failing to open, he begins screaming and banging on the glass. "Ay! Someone get me out of here!" When he screams, he notices a few stray students walking at the end of the parking lot. Squinting his eyes at the duo, his face slightly brightens. "Kenny! Butters! Get me out!" Cartman continues to yell, but to no avail as the two continue walking, completely oblivious to the righteous black car and its tortured inhabitant.

Cartman's mind begins to run in overdrive as he frantically looks around for a possible exit for escaping. Sweat pours from every crevice of his face, dripping down his forehead, cheeks and chin before landing in a disgusting puddle at the bottom hem of his white shirt. His breathing steadily begins to grow wilder. It only then increases twice fold when the car is put into reverse and backs out of its spot in the parking lot. Instantly jumping to the front of the car, Cartman is startled to find the front two seats, driver and passenger both, to be completely blocked off from the rest of the car by a large tinted dark piece of fiberglass, whether for privacy or another reason. Banging on the glass furiously, Cartman looks closely, only able to see the mop of messy black hair belonging to the driver. "Ay, you! Stop the car!" Receiving no answer from the driver as they head out onto the main road, Cartman's panic begins to lessen, figuring until the car stopped, there was virtually nothing to do by means of escaping. "Just you wait until I get outta here! Im'ma kill you, you black asshole!" Vaguely Cartman can hear the sound of an amused snort. Throwing one more fist to the glass, pain instantly filling his knuckles, he retreats to the back of the car, sliding down in his previous spot on the black leather. He crosses his arms over his chest and looks out the nearly pitch black tinted windows, his eyes just barely viewing the blur of colored houses as they pass South Park.

Smacking his forehead, Cartman moans loudly and pulls the cell phone from his pocket. "Stupid, God!" He yells as he frantically presses the on button. Minutes pass and the teenage boy's hopes crumble as the screen fails to turn on. "'Da fuck?!" He hollers with great annoyance as he flings the phone to the conjoined seat next to him. As he looks down, just to make sure the phone didn't magically turn on; his breath hitches in his throat causing a soft squeak to escape his dried mouth. Another, even larger this time, plate of cookies sat beside him, completely untouched. "DA FUCK IS GOING ON HERE?!" As he yells, the car finally comes to a complete stop, the plate of cookies as well as Cartman falling forward and onto the small feet space in the car. After he grabs a few of the cookies, managing to stuff a few in his pockets and his mouth, he gets back up and begins yelling once more. The car door opens and Cartman is left surprised. Quickly grabbing his cell phone, he jumps out of the car.

Cartman had no idea where he was. Instead of investigating the car further as he probably should have (then he would have gotten the correct identification of the driver and perhaps if anyone was sitting in the passenger seat), he stood uncomfortably on the cracked sidewalk. In front of him stood, quite possibly, the biggest building he had ever seen. Nearly fifty floors of darkened black tinted windows (much like the car behind him) stared angrily down at him. The building appeared to be in the middle of the city, wedged awkwardly in between two brick apartment buildings and upon closer investigation, had no name printed anywhere on it and no address of the building could be found from where he stood. It was as if the building appeared out of nowhere and situated itself in an, assumed, empty lot. Cartman swallowed heavily, head tipping back as he stared at the top of the building; clouds covering the last five glass floors. "Wow…" He mutters quietly as he shakes his head and turns back to the car. "Ay! Mind telling me where-," Cartman suddenly stops, a strange aroma filling his senses in a mist of pure pleasure. He moves away from the car and begins walking toward the building, instantly following the great smell, wherever it seemed to be coming from.

Walking up the front steps, Cartman felt a cool breeze rush over him. He immediately grew angry, cursing Hell upon the timid blond for puking on him earlier and wished for his jacket back. Though once the smell coursing through the air slammed back against his nose, all angry thoughts went away and all that was left was pure and utter ecstasy. Vaguely behind him, he can hear the roar of the 6.2 L V8 Bentley engine as the car quickly drives away down the long stretch of city streets. Already forgetting about the car, Cartman continues up the stairs, stopping only when he gets to the front door. He heaves himself against it harshly, smiling brightly as it pushes open. Stepping forward into the large open room, a wide grin appears on the chubby teen's face.

"I'm in heaven…" In front of Cartman, in the middle of the room, laid a long rectangular wooden table covered by a beautifully embroidered black table cloth. The table was packed to the brink with piles upon piles of freshly cooked foods, all different. Nearly falling to the floor in a fit of excitement, he straightened up quickly and ran toward the table. "Oh sweet Jesus, I'm in Heaven!" He cries, arms flailing in the air as he seats himself in the only seat present in the room, a large plush red velvet armchair at the end of the table. After Cartman seats himself in the wonderfully comfortable seat, an invisible hand reaches down and grabs a napkin from the table and ties it loosely around his neck, covering his shirt from the horrors of possible stains present from the delicious foods in front of him. When Cartman deems himself ready, his hands fly to the table, grabbing desperately at whatever foods he can reach. First, it is the same plate of cookies present in the car, and then it becomes chocolate cake. Eventually it escalates and Cartman finds himself devouring into an entire fully cooked Thanksgiving turkey and a platter full of various fish; salmon, pike, even catfish.

Hours seem to pass, each moment of it filled with the teenage boy eating whatever he can get his hands on. At last, when it seemed he had finished off the entire table full of food, Cartman leans back in the seat, his hands pressed over his enlarged stomach. Unable to speak, Cartman closes his eyes and takes in a deep breath, his chest seeming tighter than usual.

The glorious sound of perfectly in time footsteps enter the room from the front entrance of the completely glass building. They walk in, take a moment to presumably look around and assess the situation and then continue on, stopping only when they reach the back of Cartman's comfy chair. "Be on your guard; stand firm in the faith; be men of courage; be strong," the dark voice whispers, reaching forward to wrap their black covered arms around the grossed boy, mouth directly next to his ear. Cartman can feel the person's warm breaths trail down his face, covering his entire body in a hot sensation. "Cartman, if after the manner of men I have fought with beasts at Ephesus, what advantaged it me, if the dead rise not? Let us eat and drink; for tomorrow we die." The figure's left arm leaves Cartman to place a large cardboard box on the table, the front of the box facing the drowsy teenage boy. As Cartman's beady eyes read over the box time and time again, his face whitens. His body immediately stiffens as a painful uproar flows through his unmoving body, his breath begins to slow, his face sweating immensely as before. "And put a knife to thy throat, if thou _be_ a man given to appetite. Be not desirous of his dainties," the figure pauses, taking a moment to laugh loudly and seductively slide their tongue up the side of Cartman's face, "for they _are_ deceitful meat." The last thing Cartman sees before passing out are the glass windows breaking in a fit of horror, the table seeming to refill itself with the same exact food and the same, horrifying toxic box staring back at him.


	8. Chapter 8

**Disclaimer:** I do not own the cartoon South Park, nor am I affiliated with the creators, Matt Stone and Trey Parker, in any way what so ever. This piece if purely a work of fiction.

**Author's Notes:** As always, thanks to the awesome reviewers aka my friends :3 Thank you to my wonderful **tazrr.** (who wanted an extra special mention because shes cool and pwns the world lovelovelove), to the awesome **TrulyBliss08**, and also to **Darthcloudness **(who is in the process of drawing fanart for this story!!!!) and **Lionheart1235**!

This chapter is hugely dedicated to **TrulyBliss08 **who helped me tremendously with the majority of this chapter. I had a horrible time trying to plan what I wanted to happen and she helped amazingly. Thank you so much! And of course this chapter is dedicated to the amazing **kataangforeveranever **whose birthday is on the 28th! So, this chapter is for you! It's not a very good present but I hope you like it none the less! And I do hope you have a marvelous birthday! We shall throw an interwebz party for you because even though you don't think so, you're awesome!

HAPPY BIRTHDAY, LOVE!

_**I Get A Kick Out Of You**_

Chapter Eight

Despite the fact it was nearing the dead of winter, the temperature ranging out around twenty five degrees Fahrenheit with virtually three feet of mostly shoveled graying snow on the ground; the town of South Park was currently pleasantly balmy, the sky standing wonderfully in all its blue aura and the sun shining just enough behind a cloud of thick smog that blew in from Denver and it's many unhealthy factories. Even so, as many South Park occupants drudged roughly through the packed layers of frozen mounds upon the sidewalks, they hardly left such a thing as snow decrease their spirits of the wondrous sky above as they enjoyed their walks through the gloom only to be under the pleasantries of the sun.

Today was such a day that instead of sitting on the horrible public transportation system that was the bus line of South Park High, students filtered out of the school in larges masses and emigrated not to their cars, but rather the streets as they began their adventures to the downtown area. Two such students though, were the far exception as they nervously walk together out of the school and instead of the downtown area as the others; they walk to the nearly emptied parking lot. When they reach the far end, they pause, standing briefly next to that of an old 1973 Ford F-100 pickup truck.

Fists pound together in rhythmically perfect strokes, the usually joint popping noise muffled only from the light crème colored gloves present over the frosted knuckles. "I think he'll like it," the light blonde haired Butters whispers as he takes his place next to the passenger side door of the cerulean blue vehicle, his slender hand resting patiently on the rectangular chrome door handle. "Whatcha think? Think he'll like it?" He nods once more, briefly looking over at the vision of his mostly silent driving partner. Receiving only a simple nod from the other teen standing by the driver's side door, Butters smiles softly.

"He'll like anything from you Butters," Kenny mutters blandly, hands digging aimlessly into the front pockets of his old grey cotton sweatpants. Among the countless objects in his pocket that make up the mess, he manages to pull out a red and white colored pack of cigarettes. One hand balances the generic black school bag hung loosely over his shoulder, the other hand easily pops open the top of the box; a second later retrieving a long cigarette and a perfectly placed silver metal car key. "That's where that thing went off to," he mutters carefully as he shoves the unlit cigarette to his mouth and throws the key into the lock on the door. Car locks on the inside immediately jump up and the car doors are instantly thrown open. Before sliding himself in, Kenny crumples the empty pack of cigarettes up into a ball and tosses it lazily behind him. Once he then hoists himself inside, he looks to his right to make sure Butters has made it safely in before closing his door and slamming the key into the ignition. It takes a few tries of Kenny twisting his hand with the key before the vehicle roars to life, a nasty dying noise emanating from the back end of his truck almost instantly. "You good?" He asks Butters as he lifts his hands up, removing the knitted orange scarf from around his face and neck. He tosses it over to his friend.

"Oh, I'm alright… But…" Butters pauses, an unsure look on his face as he witnesses Kenny put the truck into reverse. "You sure the car is?" He balls the scarf up in his lap and tugs it close, his bottom lip trembling ever so slightly at the uncertain noises from the back.

Kenny roughly pounds the metal surface of the dashboard with his fist and grins, crooked teeth instantly shown. "This baby is perfect," he reassures Butters as he sends a seductive wink into the other direction. "Have faith Butters, it'll get us where we need to be," he pauses only to throw his arm on the leather headrest behind Butters's head and looks out the cracked rear window. "And maybe further, if you wanna."

A large blush erupts across Butters's pale features. Immediately the boy turns away to stare out the window, his eyes drifting to everything around him that was not currently the other teen seated next to him. "Don't say things like that," he mutters quietly, the fingers of his right hand abandoning the knitted fabric of Kenny's orange scarf to move to his face. His thumb delicately presses between the space of his slender lips and teeth immediately reach forward to nervously chew on the bitten nail. The obnoxious raspy noise of Kenny putting the car in its driving gear throws Butters's attention from the world back to the boy in the seat next to him. "Its… I dunno, it's just weird…"

"You like it, don't lie, but if that's what you want: I'll stop," Kenny mutters lazily, giving himself a quick glance toward his friend and then back to the road as he maneuvers the car out onto the main road that runs through their small mountain town. Once they make it to a red light, he stops the car and reaches over to the fully closed glove box. Wrenching it open, his fingerless glove clad hand blindly rummages through it as eyes stare dedicatedly up at the gleaming red light shining down into the truck. A second before the light turns red; Kenny finds what he was searching for: a match to the empty box of cigarettes he threw away in the parking lot back at the school. He grabs the pack and gives Butters's a slightly desperate look, his hazel eyes trailing over the oddity that was the red light (now turned green) illuminating a section of the teen's face. "Can you hand me my lighter?" He asks the boy, motioning only with a finger to the black bag on the floor of the truck. Looking curiously back into the review mirror and finding no car in sight behind him, Kenny keeps the car still for but a few more moments as he pulls a cigarette from the pack, shoving it to his mouth and reaches for the clear purple lighter in Butters' hand. Making sure to allow their fingers time to linger, Kenny produces a flame from the lighter and cups the area around the cigarette. Hearing a soft honk from behind him, he quickly takes a puff from the stick and throws the lighter back in the direction of his friend. He pulls his foot off the break and the truck immediately starts back as it had before.

As the two continue to drive, silence fills the vehicle, awkwardly filling every crevice of the small area to the point that Kenny feels the need to open a window in hopes that would help relieve some of the pent up discomfort. He doesn't of course and instead keeps one hand perfectly placed on the bottom of the steering wheel while the other rests lazily on the edge of the closed window. Every so often he takes a puff from the cigarette and lets it out, making sure to blow it in the direction furthest away from Butters. As they finally make it into the residential area of South Park, Kenny takes a glimpse in his friend's direction, noticing almost instantly the large unfamiliar frown placed on his soft features. "Butters, seriously, what's wrong? You're never this quiet, what's the deal?" Kenny places the cigarette back into his mouth.

Butters continues to stare out the window, through finally dropping his right hand from his mouth and resting it back on top of the obnoxiously bright colored scarf. He opens his mouth as if to say something but closes it almost instantly. "I just…" He mutters carefully as he closes his eyes and drops his head to the uncomfortable leather headrest behind. "I just am… Kinda worried is all."

"What are you worried about?" Kenny asks curiously as he eyes the many similar houses lined in a row down the street. Near the end, his eyes trail over that of a dark brown-copper color and he nods his head in Butters's direction, urging him to continue as he makes his way toward the home.

"I…" Butters starts, lifting his hand once more to his face, this time running his hand through the poorly made up blonde faux hawk haircut styled on his head. "I'm just worried… What if Tweek doesn't get out of jail? What if they make him stay there? I mean, sure he's a minor Kenny, but only for the next few months! He strangled Craig, managed to kill him! Sure, he's still alive but still! His parents could sue the Tweaks and then they'd be broke and have to move out of South Park and we'd never see them again!" Butters lifts his arms into the air and begins to flail them around for a while before moving them to grasp his hair, pulling lightly as he closes his eyes, fearing to see the look on the other's face. "I'm just so worried! He's one of my best friends! I don't know what will happen if-."

Kenny pulls the car up the driveway and puts it in park, immediately shutting it off and stuffing the key into his right pocket before turning over to his friend. "Butters, seriously, calm down. Jesus, I know you're worried about Tweek but damn it man, doesn't mean you need to start acting like him! Chill the fuck out!" Kenny reaches over and grabs the black bag from off the ground and throws it to the seat next to him. He rests his hand on the orange scarf in Butters' lap and smiles kindly, crooked teeth evident on his face as he taps the fabric, knowing full well the feeling will fall through and on Butters's thigh. "Nothing is going to happen to Tweek. Man, you know full well Craig and the Tweak's are going tomorrow to pick him up from the slammer so you need to finish that goddamn card of yours for him so they'll bring it with and give it to him and he'll be so excited because like I said before, he likes anything you give him." Kenny slides his hand away from the scarf and up Butters's arm, stopping only to pat him reassuringly on his shoulder. "Now come on, I know what will make you feel better! Pucker up, give Kenny a kiss." Kenny moves his face forward and puckers his lips together, closing his hazel eyes in excitement.

"You're not helping," Butters's mutters as he picks up Kenny's scarf and shoves it to the other boy's face, successfully covering his puckered lips. Turning around, he unlocks the truck's door and slides out, shutting it behind him as he throws his bag over his shoulder. Without looking back as he begins to walk up the driveway, Butters can hear the other teen scramble for his stuff and jump out of the truck. Choosing to ignore the sounds behind him, Butters reaches into his pocket and pulls out a house key. Once he reaches the door, he slides the key into the doorknob and stops, a hand covering his own preventing him from twisting the key any further. The hand grasps tightly, fingers curving to lace with his own as nubby nails dig into his palm. He feels a head dip down and stop only when it hovers over his shoulder, blonde hair immediately tickling the left side of his neck. He hears his name muttered softly and he turns his head carefully to look back at the teen. "Kenny," Butters's whispers back as he lifts his shoulder in an attempt to brush the other boy off. When he fails to move, he sighs and lifts his other hand. Pressing it on top of Kenny's, he twists the door knob and opens. Once the front door is open, he reaches forward to remove the key before walking inside, Kenny successfully falling away from his body. He shoves the key back into his pocket and slips his shoes off, setting them neatly next to one another on the small sheet of dark brown fabric. Just as he is about to throw his bag down to the floor beside his shoes, Butter stops once more as he looks down to notice a pair of strong hands holding his arms to his side from behind. "Why are you always touching me, Kenny?" He asks softly as he tears his eyes away from the pale hands caressing his arms. He quickly does a scan of the living room in front of him and what he can of the kitchen from his current angle and comes to the conclusion both his parents are absent, his father most likely being at work while his mother being at the grocery store.

"What?" Kenny leans down and rests his chin atop Butters's shoulder, nose leaning down just slightly toward the other blonde's head to file in the otherwise bland scent of Butters and his home. "Friends can't touch each other?"

Butters quickly shakes his head and attempts to lift his arms, only to have them fall back down to his sides a moment after. "Not like this," he states almost rudely. He looks out of the corner of his eye to gaze at the unusually innocent face caressing Kenny's face.

Kenny grumbles instantly and buries his face into the fabric of Butters's long sleeved striped blue shirt. "Come on, man. Let's just have some fun. It'll get your mind off Tweek and those guys for a while and it'll be cool, I swear."

"Kenny!" Butters practically yells, tearing his arms away from Kenny as he does so. "Look, my parents could be home sooner or later and I just, I don't really wanna be grounded if they catch us… You know, doing… Stuff together."

"It's not like we haven't done anything together before…" Kenny whispers as his eyes immaturely roll away from Butters to the living room around them. As he looks around in mild curiosity, it's then he notices the boy's sneakers resting perfectly beside the door. Slipping his own work boots from off his feet, he tosses them lazily in the correct direction followed immediately by his bag which makes a loud thump when it collides with the ground (successfully causing Butters to jump just slightly in the air in surprise). After that, he lets the tattered grey hooded sweatshirt fall from his shoulders and to the ground, not bothering to hang it up on the coat rack mere feet from where he stood. Throwing the one end of his knitted orange scarf over his shoulder (managing to cover his lower face in the process), Kenny watches with extreme interest as Butters's eyes immediately fall over his chest, a slight blush forming on the shorter blonde's face. "Come on, Butters…" Kenny whines quietly as he walks forward, the same small smirk on his face hidden from the layer of orange knit. Holding his hands up, he removes the grey gloves from his skin and throws them haphazardly behind him.

"Kenny, I just, I don't know if-," Butters immediately stops, ankles hitching the bottom of the stairs and causing his entire body to plummet downward. He groans softly and reaches for the back of his head as he closes his eyes, a slight pained look on his face. "Ah, hamburgers, that hurt…" Upon reopening his eyes, he gasps and falls back against the steps.

"Let me kiss me better," Kenny grins as he stands before Butters, legs and hands situated on either side of the clumsy teenager. Quickly leaning down, Kenny slips his eyes closed and presses a soft, yet firm kiss to Butters's right temple. "There. Better?"

Butters quickly thinks to himself. Over the past week, he hadn't exactly been the usual outgoing self he normally was. He got yelled at carelessly by both parents, nearly twice everyday for simple minded things he had done, failed a few tests, witnessed his friend thrown into a cop car outside the school, and almost broke his leg in a horrible mishap in the gymnasium at school involving a dodge ball, Cartman and the bleachers. Butter's week hadn't been all that great. Rolling his eyes at the act before him, Butters sighs and figures, just maybe, spending some time together doing whatever Kenny wanted to do wouldn't at all be that bad. It would get his mind off a few things, as Kenny had said before, and that of course, was Butters's current main objective. "I… It doesn't hurt there," he mutters softly as he turns his head away from Kenny, his light blue eyes trailing over a soft crack in the wall caused by him pounding against the wall when he was eight.

"It doesn't?" Kenny asks dumbly, the smirk widening on his face as he does so. Reaching forward once more, he leans down and places a soft kiss on Butters's dark jean clad knee. "How about there?"

Butters's shakes his head almost instantly thereafter.

"Tell me if I'm getting warmer," Kenny murmurs quietly, trailing his head back up Butters's body before he hits the small portion of exposed skin beside his neck. He places a soft kiss there and smiles, tongue darting out just lightly to trail against the pale skin. Planting a few more kisses in the area, Kenny travels upwards, past his neck and to the teen's soft jaw.

"You're hot!" Butters's yelps loudly, hands traveling upward to cover his mouth in embarrassment as he stares wide eyed forward.

"Well, thanks Butters," Kenny beams and brings a hand up, ruffling the lighter blonde's now completely messed up faux hawk. "You ain't too bad looking yourself." As he quickly stands up from the stairs, Kenny holds his hands out for Butters to grab. Pulling the other teen up, Kenny immediately dives forward thereafter and wraps his arms around his chest, bringing him forward. Once their lips lock in a soft kiss, Kenny's eyes slip closed, his mind going completely blank as he melts in the feeling of having the other close by. The moment is only short lived of course as he feels his body tugged forward, his mind immediately registering that Butters is no doubt attempting to ascent the stairs with Kenny still attached. He pulls back for a brief moment and laughs, arms tightening their hold around Butters's body as he nearly trips backwards on the top step. The two let out a slightly strained laugh and immediately go to lock lips.

"You think we should…" Butters murmurs off, eyes slipping shut as he blindly reaches for the knob on his door. With a quick smile, he cranes his neck upward as he feels Kenny's head shift downward, plush lips planting sporadic kisses down upon his skin. With a small happy groan, Butters lolls his head against his door and wraps his arms loosely around the back of Kenny's neck. Without a care in the world, he softly feels one of Kenny's hands fall away from his back and down his butt before falling away altogether. A second later, the door falls open and Butters gasps, eyes reopening.

"Relax, I got you," Kenny mutters as he dangles the smaller teen in his arms, the other's body nearly in midair. "I won't let go," he adds quietly, allowing Butters to hoist himself up carefully before pushing him into the room. Once inside the bedroom, Kenny immediately leaps into the air and dive bombs for the bed. Once he lands face first onto the mattress, his eyes slip closed, his lungs taking in the deep scent of freshly cleaned white cotton sheets. A few seconds later, just as he was mid way through another large breath of the fresh scent, he groans, his face falling flatter against the red pillow in front of him. Turning his head just slightly (about as much as he could), he sees the soft smile caressing Butters's nearly child like face.

"See something you like?" Butters whispers softly, wrapping his jeaned slender legs around Kenny's midriff. Hearing just a slight muffled whimper from the other teen, Butters backs up slightly, giving Kenny more leeway on the bed.

"Turn me around and I will," Kenny finally manages to choke out as he successfully rolls over on the bed, watching as Butters falls with the action on the opposite side, arms grabbing desperately at the sheets to prevent him from falling off the twin sized mattress. Once he is situated comfortably with his legs parted in front of him, arms to the side and head pressed back onto the fluffy red pillow, Kenny lifts a hand and pats his stomach. With a wide smirk, Kenny braces himself as Butters crawls over and plops himself down on his body, sprawling each one of his limbs comfortably on the bed around him. "You're too far away," he mutters then with a disapproving glance as Butters rests his rounded chin on Kenny's chest, light blue eyes innocently looking up at him. Lifting both hands up and grabbing onto Butters's small hips, Kenny helps the other teen move up his body carefully, stopping only when their lips are mere centimeters apart. "That's better."

Butters smiles slightly and cocks his head to the side, light blonde bangs falling from their spot on top of his head down to his forehead, obstructing his view only slightly. Briefly closing his eyes, he feels Kenny lift one hand from off his hip to his face, nonchalantly brushing away the blonde impediment. Reopening his eyes, he dips his down and stops, resting the side of their noses together. "You… You don't think my parents will come home, right?" He questions carefully, eyes darting quickly to his window as if by that particular chance his parent's car would drive up to the house and his they would run inside, catching the two boys situated on the bed. Butters swallows heavily, a far off gaze present on his face as he stares off at the window.

Reaching forward, Kenny places a soft kiss on the side of Butters's lips before smirking. "They're not gonna come home, I swear." His hands slowly slide down from their spot amongst blonde hair down the other's neck, stopping finally to rest lazily on Butters's back. "Now come on, it's a little bit of a cock block you just sort of sitting there…"

Butters finally looks back over to Kenny and bites his lip in an almost uncomfortable fashion. Finally dipping low, he rests his lips carefully down upon Kenny's, a light smile forming on his face as the other boy immediately starts to kiss back.

Kenny's hands grip the bottom of the long sleeved blue shirt, lifting upwards only a few inches before sliding his hands delicately against the other's back, his nimble fingers gracing the bumps of Butters's spine. With somewhat of a shocked look accommodating to his face, he feels Butters's mouth begin to lightly open, his tongue leaving its clammy haven to run across the bottom area of Kenny's lips. Immediately responding back, Kenny all but delicately shoves his tongue against the others, forcing their mouths closer together. His hands press even harder down upon the other's back, forcing Butters's body down upon his own. For only a moment Kenny pulls away. Though, before the other teen has even a second to question the act, Kenny pushes him to the side of the bed until he lands on his back with a slightly startled yelp and crawls on top of him, successfully managing to change their position in under five seconds. Kenny quickly situates his legs in between the smaller boy's, grinning in excitement as he finds Butters's slender legs wrap loosely around his back, pulling him closer once again. They lips meet again, this time in a more rapid pace than before.

Kenny feels small hands begin to run over his chest, for a moment unknowing what to do before sliding fully up the front, fingers fiddling nervously with the hard white buttons of his flannel shirt. "They're not gonna bite you," he murmurs softly, removing his lips from Butters's own only briefly as he begins planting soft kisses down the others chin. Once he reaches the neck, the kisses become sharper, most precise. As he bites down lightly onto Butters's neck, he feels the other gasp and begins to quickly tear away each button from its according hole. When a cold rush falls over his chest, Kenny knows his shirt is completely unbuttoned. He removes his hands from Butter's hair and while still planting kisses over his neck, Kenny throws his shirt off, leaving his chest still covered by a thin white undershirt, just tight enough to stretch over his pronounced upper body. The undershirt, to his surprise, doesn't seem to mind too much to Butters as he slides his hands up his chest, fingers trapped between delicately scarred skin and thin white cotton.

Kenny slams his hands back down to the mattress and grips the sheets tightly, the fabric falling helpless under the strength of his fingers. Quickly, as Kenny begins to trail kisses away from Butters's neck and back to his face, his fingers slide closer to the other's head. Immediately, he feels soft blonde hair cuddle against his skin as if it were a mother's delicate touch holding him away from harm. Kenny inhales sharply and wraps the hair around his fingers. He pulls softly and listens carefully, hearing no such reaction from the squirming boy beneath him. He begins to tug harder on the hair in an attempt to continue getting a reaction. At last, he finally tugs harshly. His eyes bug open as screams erupt from his open, flustered mouth. Instantly as he begins screaming, a higher, louder pitch falls from Butters's mouth as he yells back in surprise. "Butters!" Kenny yells loudly, sitting up from the bed and situating himself between the teen's legs. "What the fuck is that?! And why the hell is it in your bed?!" Kenny lets go of the blonde mess and flings it across the bed in fright.

Butters follows the blonde mess with wide eyes and dives for it once it falls from Kenny's hands. "Don't… Just don't worry about it," he mutters quickly, grasping it tightly in his hands as he leans over the bed to stuff it underneath. Though before he has the chance to, he feels the bed shift drastically and a pair of strong hands forcibly holds onto his hips. He hurriedly clutches the object to his chest and shakes his head. "Kenny, just don't worry about it! It's really none of your business!"

"Just hang on a second! Let me see it again!" Kenny yells as he pulls the smaller blonde backwards against his chest. "This isn't the thing I'm trying to break," with a quick smack against Butters's behind, the object falls from his hands and Kenny quickly grabs for it, pulling it above his head for just a precaution, in case the other were to grab for it again. Within a matter of seconds, a wide, goofy smirk erupts across his face. "Is this what I think it is? Jesus, are you serious-"

"Kenny! Please give it back!" Butters cries childishly, reaching upwards in an attempt to grab at the long blonde haired wig currently in his friend's possession.

"No way! Oh man, Butters… Seriously, do you still wear this?" Kenny asks, extreme interest present on his face as he stares down at the cowering blonde.

Butters hurriedly buries his face against Kenny's chest, eyes closing against the white cotton fabric, face flush with severe embarrassment. "Ah, biscuits and gravy, Kenny… I… Only once in a while. It's not like I wear it all the time. It's just for fun, I swear!" He cries as he shakes his head furiously.

Lowering his hands, Kenny stares at the soft realistic wig in his grasp. "No way it's the same wig. How does it still fit you?" He questions, sticking his fingers underneath to spread it open, curiously feeling the flesh colored net lining on the inside of the wig. "Man, you must have had a fat head back then…"

"I did not!" Butters cries shamefully, finally lifting his head to watch Kenny fiddle with the wig. Lifting a finger to his eye, he wipes carefully, making sure no tears had fallen from his ducts after the less than stressful secret was revealed.

Kenny continues to keep the wig open, eyes probing the fashionable layers surrounding the hair. "Didn't we put ribbons in it?"

"The girls took them, remember?"

"Oh, yeah…"

After a moments silence, Butters gently reaches for the wig and looks up at Kenny. "Can we just get rid of it and you know, get back to what we were doing?"

"You cannot be serious!" Kenny yells as he swats away Butters's hand when it came just too close to the wig. Forcing Butters to kneel his head down, Kenny throws the wig over the other's head and straightens it out; fingertips stroking through the hair in an attempt to detangle some parts. "This is definitely the hottest thing I've seen all week," he mutters quietly, head tipped to the side as he curiously eyes the frowning boy. "Who'da think you'd look good as a chick…"

"Kenny, I'm not wearing this," Butters quickly states as he reaches up to tear the wig from his head.

"Hold on! Just, keep it on for a while, okay? Just for a while." Kenny gently takes Butters hands and places them back down to the bed. With a smirk on his face and a slightly mischievous twinkle in his eye, Kenny jumps away from Butters to the opposite side of the bed. "Who knows what else you have down there!" He hollers causing Butters to admit defeat and slump against the side wall, fingertips gently toying with the perfect blonde tips caressing his shoulders.

"Please don't drag anything else out, Kenny…" Butters says softly as a wide frown falls upon his face. As Kenny's body nearly fully falls down the side of the bed, he can feel his heartbeat quicken, his brain forming scenario after scenario of Kenny revealing every little embarrassing thing about him with just a swoop of his arm under his bed. A few moments later, Kenny emerges from underneath, a pair of objects in his hands. Butters feels his face immediately pale. "I… I can explain."

Kenny smirks widely and pulls the poorly made up tin foil helmet over his head, making sure to move away his own blonde strands from his line of vision beforehand. "I knew there was a reason I came over today," he muses quietly as he crawls back over to Butters, the same wide smirk still on his face. "Besides to get a piece of you, of course," Kenny adds, using both hands to push Butters away from the wall and onto his back on the bed. "Tell me I look hot again."

Butters reaches upwards and sighs dramatically, fingers gazing over the hard uncomfortable feeling of the aluminum foil to the soft silky feeling of Kenny's cheek. "You found my dress," he murmurs quietly, light blue eyes glancing quickly at the tacky light green dress in Kenny's hand.

"Put it on?" Kenny questions back just as quietly, head dipping low until their lips graze one another's. He watches as Butters shifts his head, the uncomfortable foil no doubt causing unwanted feelings against his face.

"In a little bit," Butters gives up, a small smile forming on his face as he witnesses the large, bright one erupt from Kenny's. Closing the distance between them, Butters closes his eyes and presses his lips to his friends. Reaching his hands up, he wraps them tenderly around Kenny's neck.

"Do you think we can…?"

Butters nods his head and adjusts his body forward, pushing his hips gently up against Kenny's, a soft comforting friction occurring between the two. "We can," he adds softly.

A wide grin forms over Kenny's face as he gently grasps onto Butter's upper arms. Leaning back, he falls to the bed and adjusts comfortably just as they had before. Letting go, his hands fall to the bottom of his white undershirt which he quickly clenches and pulls up his body, revealing inch by inch of toned white skin along the way. Once the shirt is up and over his head, he flings it to the ground in the area around the bed. With Butters's hands still wrapped tenderly around his neck, Kenny slowly removes them and places his hands fully down on his naked chest, palms resting directly over his hardened nipples.

Butters presses his hands against Kenny's chest, watching as the lounging teen rests his head back down upon the pillow; dirty blonde hair sprayed over the red cotton sheet belonging to the pillowcase. Quickly reaching up, Butters places a small kiss to Kenny's lips, dragging his tongue over the surface before sliding down completely to the frontal area of his neck. Carefully, he bites down on the skin, gently dragging across with his front teeth. Receiving a soft moan from the rested boy, Butters smiles widely and cocks his head to the side. "Please take the helmet off Kenny," he whimpers softly.

Before him, Kenny shakes his head. "No way. Just like you, I like it too much, it ain't goin' nowhere," he responds back as he reaches two hands up to slowly glide his fingers through the blonde hair of the wig.

Butters rolls his eyes and slides his hands down from the other's nipples to the front brim of his sweatpants, fingers gently falling in place as they slide around the elastic. Sliding his mouth away from Kenny's neck, Butters's moves downward until he adjusts on his chest, his mouth just inches from where his hands resided. With one quick motion, Butters opens his mouth and imprisons one of Kenny's firm nipples. Butters can feel the hot glances Kenny sends him as he gently bites and rubs at the sensitive skin adoring his friend's chest. With both hands currently unoccupied, he loosens his fingers from around Kenny's pants and shifts them to the front. Aimlessly toying with the elastic strap falling from the front of the sweatpants, Butters suddenly jumps slightly at the aggravated sounds of Kenny below him. "Am I-?"

"Fuck, Butters, no. Just hurry up!" Kenny cries as he bucks his hips up in slight annoyance.

Butters squeaks in surprise and draws his fingers around the top of the pants, immediately dragging them down as low as he can before Kenny moves his own legs, throwing them off into the distance in one second flat. Giving one last smile up at Kenny, liking the fact it was returned almost instantly, Butters slides his hands up the semi naked thighs and presses against the red plaid boxer shorts adoring Kenny's flat hips. Biting his bottom lip in self consciousness, Butters continues to give Kenny short choppy glances as he rubs his palms over the area surrounding his main objective. When Kenny's dull hazel eyes close and his mouth falls open in light bliss, Butters knows he's fine.

Continuing to glance up at Kenny, Butters finally places his hand down upon the tented area of the plaid boxers, smiling happily to himself as Kenny's mouth opens wider in contentment. Reaching down, he places soft kisses below the blonde's belly button, stopping only when he reaches the elastic brim of the boxers. Lifting his hands from off the sensitive area, Butters grabs the top and begins pulling them down just as he had done with the sweatpants before. Though once they reach as far as he can push them (somewhere just above Kenny's knees), instead of pulling them away as Kenny had done before, he leaves them there; legs spread wide in appreciation and hands too busy curling around the light strands of blonde hair belonging to the wig to even care.

Butters places one more kiss to Kenny's stomach before moving downward, hands gripping the bottom of Kenny's semi hardened penis. He plants one kiss to the head before opening his mouth entirely, slipping the member inside. Below him, Kenny's hips immediately buck against him, his body aching for the continued feeling of warmth protruding from Butters's open wet mouth.

"Fuck…" Kenny whispers softly, his head lolling to the side of the red pillow, eyes reopening to stare down at the blonde over his package. With the first suctioned feeling from Butters's mouth onto his erection, Kenny moans loudly, his deep voice carrying out of the bedroom and throughout the otherwise silence house. As Butters's mouth continues to slide down his fully erect member, it takes all of ten seconds to fully comprehend a soft buzzing sound echoing around his ear. "What the…" He mutters softly, readjusting his eyes from his body to the phone sitting on Butters's bedside table. "You cannot be serious," Kenny growls angrily and grabs the phone on the table, immediately pressing the end button as it thereafter fails to continue buzzing. Looking back down, he is grateful to find Butters's completely oblivious to the sound above him. As he stares seductively down upon the blonde mass, Kenny sighs contently, his breath beginning to quicken as Butters takes him further in his mouth. "Do you think you can…?" Kenny wanders off as he continues to smile happily. Though before the words even fall from his mouth, he feels Butters's quickly grab onto his hips, fingernails digging into the skin and the space around his erection immediately tighten as he slowly slips down the other's throat. "Oh, fuck! Jesus Christ, Butters!" Kenny excitedly yells, hips bucking up against Butter's face in absolute contentment. "God, you're amazing!" Moments pass and Kenny's breath hitches in his throat, sweat beginning to form at the highest point of his forehead and seeping against the aluminum foil of the helmet. Biting his lip in eagerness, Kenny throws his head to the pillow and raises his hips just that much more, a look of pure ecstasy wrapped around every feature on his face. Without a moment's notice to Butters, Kenny ejaculates quickly and falls back to the bed, his chest rising up and down, mouth gaped open in absolute satisfaction.

Below him, Butters immediately jumps away from Kenny's dick, sitting up in shock. Hearing a slight apology from Kenny, Butters quickly crawls across the bed and grabs at the box of tissues sitting on the table. Grabbing one, he opens his mouth and drags the cloth over his tongue, attempting to rid his mouth of the semen falling from his orifice.

"Goddamnit, Butters." Kenny states with a grin on his face as he quickly pulls his boxers back up and falling back to the bed. Opening his arms, he grunts as Butters falls to his chest and plants a kiss to Kenny's chin. "I owe you," he responds, immediately kissing the blonde back, though on the lips rather than anywhere else.

"Next time," Butters responds quietly, half resting his head against Kenny's chest and half on the red pillow.

"Next time, definitely." From somewhere beside him, Kenny can hear the same continued irritated buzzing as before. "Jesus Christ!" He curses, the free hand not rubbing Butter's back softly, grabbing harshly for the phone beside him. He throws the helmet off and onto the ground, messy blonde hair flying from their restraints against the foil. With just a glance at the name appearing on the screen, Kenny flips the phone open and shoves it to his ear.

"For Christ sake Kyle, I'm kind of busy right now. Sorta why I didn't pick up the goddamn phone." In his arms, he feels Butters move around uncomfortably. Letting the one arm holding him down fall to his side, he watches with mild interest as he gets up from the bed and stretches in the middle of the room, fingers delicately scratching at the pale skin of his stomach. With a smirk on his face, Kenny watches the teen, forgetting completely about the phone in his hands. With a sudden yelp to his ear, Kenny's eyes widen. "Ah, fuck, Kyle. What did you say? No, I'm at Butters's house. What's so important? Speak louder, I can't hear you." Drawing his attention back to Butters, he watches as the teen holds up the light green dress from before and points to the door, signaling his return. Kenny nods shortly and sits up on the bed, shamelessly watching the small blonde's ass as he walks out of the door, shutting it behind him. "What about Cartman?" Kenny asks curiously, lifting a hand to his mouth as he chews on the sharpened nail of his thumb. "They what?! You're kidding me! Kyle, that's not funny!" Kenny's hand falls from his mouth and into his lap, his fingers now gripping the ends of his red plaid boxers. "Who? Who found him…? Oh shit… You mean… In the janitor's closet with rat poison… Oh, God, oh shit… Kyle…" Kenny stands up from the bed and cradles his spare arm around his stomach, holding onto his hip on the other side. "Fuck… Yeah I'll tell him…" Kenny looks toward the closed door and frowns deeply. "He's in the bathroom, I'll tell him when he gets back…" Kenny wraps his arm tighter around himself and dips his head down until his chin rests against his chest. He closes his eyes quickly and brings the spare hand back up to wipe furiously at his eyes. "I-yeah… I love you too, man. Look I'mma-," Kenny pauses and opens his eyes, finding himself looking at nothing but complete darkness in front of him. "Shit I have to call you back. Butters's electricity is going crazy. Yeah, you too, bye." Hanging the phone up and throwing it to the bed, Kenny begins to blindly walk over to the bedroom door. Managing to find the doorknob in record speed, Kenny pulls. Furiously pulling and twisting the handle, the teen frowns, confusing wrapped around his face as he wonders why the door won't open. "Butters! Did you lock me in?!" He yells loudly, hoping his voice carries out of the room and into the hallway.

In the bathroom down the hall, Butters stands on the foot tall stepping stool placed by the edge of the sink, allowing his entire torso to appear in the lengthy mirror in front. Adjusting the wig on his head, he laughs to himself and rolls his eyes in slight annoyance. "Why am I wearing this thing?" He questions softly as he pats down the rather disheveled parts of the long blonde hair. Cocking his head to the side, he sighs. "Oh yeah, for Kenny…" He mutters quietly, hands falling from the hair to the counter where he picks up the light green knee length sun dress. As he strips himself of his long sleeved blue shirt, he jumps in slight surprise, the lights flickering above him quickly. Considering calling for Kenny, Butters shakes it off and throws the shirt to the ground. He quickly steps down from the stepping stool. When the lights flicker once more, Butters walks over to the light switch and fiddles curiously with it. It fails to work as the lights finally give away and leave Butters standing in complete and total darkness.

"Kenny?" Butters finally calls out, cradling the dress to his chest as he swallows heavily in fear. "Kenny, the lights aren't working!" He calls out again, listening carefully for any sounds from the other teen. Shaking his head to himself, Butters scoffs. "Get a hold of yourself, Leopold! This is ridiculous! It's just a little power outage! No harm done!" After he says this, to his enjoyment, the lights flicker back on. Smiling to himself, Butters begins to fiddle with the button and zipper on his jeans, finally managing to slip them down his hips and off his legs, kicking them off into the corner where his shirt resided.

A noise at the window startles Butters. It's a soft noise, almost that of a voice, though soft enough to tempt Butters's overt curiosity. And as such, as he walks over toward the open window, he looks out curiously, finding no such thing out there. Turning back around, he finds himself facing darkness with two red dots on the far corner of the room. "Kenny!" He calls out, tearing his eyes from the dots as he continues to clutch the dress to his chest. Quickly, he turns back around to the window and shuts it. Blindly making his way toward the door, he grabs the doorknob and yanks, a silent scream erupting from his throat as he finds the entrance to be locked. "Kenny! I locked myself in! Please, let me out! It's dark!" He continues to scream, nervousness stretched over his features as he feels sticky sweat pour from every crevice of his face down his cheeks.

Butters finally lets go of the door and takes a step back, immediately stepping into something thick and wet. The lights flicker instantly thereafter as he looks down to the ground and stares at the pools of deep thick blood coating every part of the white tiled floor. Removing one foot from the puddle, Butters's face pales and a loud, irritate scream flies from his mouth, traveling no further than the confines of the bathroom. The lights flicker off once more and Butters leaps from his spot in the thick pool. Once he lands, he slips dangerously on his pile of forgotten clothes and falls forward, successfully knocking his head against the counter holding the bathroom sink. A groan falls from his chapped lips as he lifts one hand to his head, the other hanging onto the counter in desperation. Rubbing his hand repeatedly over the aching spot, Butters feels light traces of tears begin to fall from his wide and frightened eyes. Removing his hand, he rubs his fingers together and feels the slight tinge of wetness. "Ah, God. Kenny! Please! I'm bleeding!" He cries out, his voice straining in his throat.

In the darkness behind him, Butters hears his name suddenly whispered. Turning around, he comes face to face with nothing, as before. Though something was quite off to him; he felt something, something was close by, yet he couldn't figure what. "Please, who are you?" He asks quietly, one hand still gripping the side of the sink.

"Please, just help me!" He cries out, tears now streaming from his eyes as the pain in his head becomes too unbearable for him to deal with. Forgotten about the puddle beside him, Butters takes a step forward and successfully slips once more. Though instead of hitting his head as he had before, his hands fly up and knock the mirror above the sink, managing to smash it in a million tiny shards. With a loud scream of agony, Butters hands fly to his face, miniature shards of glass imbedded in his eyes making him nearly blind in the already dark room. He falls to the ground and immediately begins to thrash around on the ground, arms and legs knocking every single thing in his way. As continued screams fall from his mouth, Butters finds his throat growing weaker until finally his voice is that of a soft whisper. "Please…" He murmurs softly, finding the strength to get up, deep shards of glass digging into the palms of his hands as he sits up on his knees. "Please…" He whimpers even softer, hands gripping anything willing to hold him in place. When he manages to grab a hold of the counter once more, Butters lifts himself up. "Kenny, please…" He groans as he takes a step back, colliding with something long and narrow. Losing his balance over the slender object, Butters falls backwards, slamming instantaneously against the porcelain bathroom bathtub, deep pools of blood streaming from a wide open gash in the back of his head. Coughing one last time, Butters lifts one hand to his face and sticks two fingers into his mouth. Retracting them, in the slight gleam of light falling in from the bathroom window, he sees two blobs of blood travel down his digits and over his wrists. "Please…" He whimpers just once more, eyes slipping painfully closed as the shards of glass press against the inside of his eyelids.

Kenny finally slams his entire body against the simple wooden bedroom door. It flies open upon impact and he immediately dive bombs for the bathroom. Knocking on the bathroom, he swallows heavily. "Butters, man, you okay? You locked the door." When Kenny receives no reply, he frowns and knocks once more. "Butters, you aren't scared of the dark are you? The lights will be back on soon, I swear. Come on out." Just as the words fall from Kenny's lips, he looks up and finds the power to return to the house, all the lights instantly turning back on as they had before. "Look, see!" Smiling to himself at his luck, he looks down to the carpet and cocks his head to the side in confusion, a strange red substance (that Kenny was all too familiar with) leaks from underneath the door, soaking into the plush white carpet of the hallway. He presses his hand to the knob and opens the door, an unfamiliar feeling caught in his throat. "Butters…" Kenny mutters softly, tears instantly falling from his eyes as he witnesses the horrendous bloodbath that was his crush's final end. As he runs into the room and over to the bathtub, his own hands clutch the sides of his face in absolute horror, Kenny shakes his head. "No, this isn't happening! Butters! Butters!" He hollers, sobs of anger and sadness flowing from his eyes. In his ear, nearly impossible to hear over the screams and sobs produced from his body, Kenny hears the simple phrase muttered over and over again followed by a sickening low chuckle: some things are worse than death, Kenneth McCormick.


	9. Chapter 9

**Disclaimer:** I do not own the cartoon South Park, nor am I affiliated with the creators, Matt Stone and Trey Parker, in any way what so ever. This piece if purely a work of fiction.

**Author's Notes:** Um, wow, hey. No, this story is not dead. I, however, feel like I am. A lot of stuff has happened in the last few months and I would just like to thank everyone that still reads this. It's nice to see that I even got a few new comments the last time I logged in. As a side note: this is by far the shortest thing I've ever written. I had a few crisis's when writing these next few chapters which I won't bother indulging you all upon. I also did not reread this chapter, so if there are any mistakes or cocks to the head of confusion, I apologize in advance.

_**I Get A Kick Out Of You**_

Chapter Nine

"Phillip?" A loud resonating knock echoed in the dark, depressed bedroom at the end of the hallway. "Phillip, please talk to me." The tender voice of the woman barely reverberated past the cherry finished mahogany door, yet even so, was faintly audible within the confines of the room. "Phillip, please, let's-."

The soft rustling of sheets was heard before an even softer voice was made known. "Please, Mother. I'd… I'd rather not talk right now."

Pip's mother placed her hand solidly onto the door; fingertips lightly tapping against the nearly sparkling polished wood. "Honey, please. It's been nearly two days since Butters's accident. Please just come out."

"It wasn't an accident! Now leave me alone, Ruth! I don't want to talk to you!" The softer voice grew louder before making its abrupt end. The continuous rustling of sheets was heard before all noise suddenly ceased thereafter.

Ruth let a soft squeak fall from her ruby coated lips at the harsh words screamed from inside the bedroom. "I…" She begins as her hand slides down the wall. "I'll just talk to you later on then." With a deep breath, she carefully maneuvers the dark brown curls over her shoulder and takes a step away from the door. "Your father will be home soon. Dinner will be ready in half an hour, darling." Placing a soft kiss to her palm, she sets it directly onto the door before distancing herself further from her adopted son.

Inside the bedroom, as if having personally felt the kiss directly placed upon the door, Pip sets his paled hand to his cheek; fingers covering the freckled imperfections grazed across his skin. With a quick swipe of his hands, salted tears slide across his fingers before tumbling to the tear stained dirty white sheets of the bed. "I'm sorry Butters…" He mumbles quietly, fluffy blonde hair going astray as he shoves the pillow closer to his face. "This is my fault... All my fault." As the tears fall heavier down his face, Pip's frail body jerks; a sudden stream of jolts to his chests as he chokes air back into his lungs; the byproduct of his fanatic crying. Accidentally knocking his head against the side wall nearby his bed, Pip cries out in pain.

If only he were that much stronger, Pip would have gladly accepted the pain throbbing through his cranium. As far as he was concerned, Butters's accidental death (as the news personnel and his own mother put it) was entirely his fault. Never would it have happened if Pip wasn't so weak and needed protection from the worst kind of monster there was out there. Never would it have happened if Pip wasn't so weak and the other boys in his grade picked on him as if he were a pathetic little girl. Never would it have happened if Pip just took matters in his own hands and stuck up for himself for once. But to him, that would never happen, and although he did not directly kill and harm the people in his class, all the blame was pointed directly to him as if it were one giant neon flashing sign floating above his head.

Pip quickly takes in a deep breath as he rubs the back of his head for a few more seconds. "Stupid head," he mutters quietly, tongue darting out to catch the tears falling from his red bloodshot eyes. Through blurred vision, Pip can just barely make out the sight of bright halogen headlights slowly making their way up the snow covered driveway.

Pip awkwardly stumbled from his bed, catching himself quickly with his sleeve covered hands just before he landed on the ground. With little strength he had, he lifted himself up and immediately began riffling around his room; careful stale eyes drifting from corner to corner in hopes of finding the few necessary trinkets his mind deemed important. "I have to leave," Pip decides finally, hand trailing on the back of his head for a brief moment. With a lunge directed a few feet to his left, he collected the torn and battered brown leather wallet and cellphone from the floor. With a few looks to the window, Pip bit his lip and worriedly looked to the ground. He quickly walked to the door and placed a small kiss upon his hand before setting it to the wood and then making the mere ten feet back to the small window. He throws the window open and turns his head to the side, successfully shielding the majority of his face from the harsh winds manifesting outside from the early brutal winters.

"I have to get out of here," he whispers quietly as his eyes slide down to the driveway below where his father's car sat; steam rising from the engine as it fights the nipping cold. Listening carefully, he hears the man enter the homestead and begin his daily ritual of removing his shoes and tie, setting his briefcase to the floor, kissing his wife on the cheek and asking what's for dinner, completely forgetting about the troubled boy upstairs sulking in his room.

Pip does one quick double take around the bedroom where he snatches up a small black cap from his bed stand, throwing it to his head, successfully covering most of the bright blonde strands that set him apart from the majority of the dark and gloomy town. He looks at the roughly eighteen feet drop down to the snow covered grass below and winces, catastrophic scenarios coming to mind as he imagines his body flailing from the second floor window, landing painfully on the ice like steel ground, bones jarring from their appropriate spots in his body and sliding past weakened muscle and skin to make their appearance to the cold world outside his frail form.

Pip swallows heavily and takes a small step away from the window, a dark look of fear spreading across his face. Rethinking his choice of jumping, Pip brings his thumb to his mouth and bites at the nail, the look of fear turning to one of worry as he hears the unmistakable sound of footsteps coming toward his bedroom door. Without a second thought, Pip climbs to the windowsill and grasps onto the ledge, nearly losing his footing on the slippery sill. Aiming for the set of dead looking red berried shrubs on the side of the house, Pip closes his eyes and jumps, falling from his windowsill and down toward the ground below.

Though without opening his eyes, Pip's brain tells him he is falling a lot faster and a lot further than he should have fallen. What should have taken a few moments quickly turned into minutes followed by hours. Without a second coherent thought from his mind, Pip's body shuts down, his brain following sometime thereafter. As he continues his fall awkwardly to whatever destination it chose to pick, Pip's final thoughts are bleak. He finally slams down on the ground, his body cracking painfully against the surface of the Earth; limbs contorted like no humans should, skull cracking open allowing a river of blood to gush from the side of his head.


End file.
